


The Setauket Chronicles

by narcissablaxk



Category: Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M, all the crack ships, but some drama tbh, domestic loveliness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-05
Updated: 2017-06-29
Packaged: 2018-07-29 14:41:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 49,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7688380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/narcissablaxk/pseuds/narcissablaxk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A modern AU Annlett fic that features all of our favorite revolutionaries and red coats free of war and struggling to navigate adult life. Samuel Townsend is the group family father/therapist, and all of his children are having their own issues. Mary and Abraham are on the edge of a divorce, Anna and Selah might have already crossed that threshold, Ben has been dazzled by a woman that already has a couple of drooling men following her, and Caleb is pretty sure he’s in love with his best friend’s girl. Domestic madness!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introductory Credits

**Author's Note:**

> Seriously, this features every single crack ship I could think of to shove into one fic. It might get a little weird in here, but we'll see.

It was the little things. The little things were what drove Mary Woodhull mad the fastest. It wasn’t the large issue of infidelity, or the gaping hole of mistrust, or even the disregard with which her husband seemed to regard their entire relationship that truly drove her mad. It dug into her skin when he left his clothes strewn across the floor, just inches from the hamper, or when he promised to spend time with Thomas but just managed to wriggle out of it with some excuse that she knew wouldn’t pan out if she just had the energy to look. 

Today, it was the empty bottle of Jim Beam in the trash can, covered by Thomas’s tiny little paper plate and an empty egg carton, like Mary wouldn’t have noticed the clink of the glass against the tile when she lifted the bag out of the trash can. 

He promised, she fumed, holding the bottle in her hand. He promised he’d stop drinking. She carried it out to the trash can, holding the bag and the glass bottle separate. Her eyes stared forward, trying to work past the explosive rage that often built up at these tipping points. With a swift movement, she dropped the bag onto the pavement of the driveway and, with as much strength as she could muster, chucked the bottle into the street, watching with satisfaction as it shattered into pieces, raining a few small pieces of glass back in her direction. 

She swept it toward the curb absently, thanking God that Samuel Townsend was watching Thomas today, giving her a much needed day of rest. That meant she could go to the bar and get trashed without worrying that her son would see her that way. 

She grabbed her purse from the top of the toy box that housed Thomas’s little tank engines and Hot Wheels cars and the lone Barbie she had convinced Abraham to let him keep. He’s just a baby, she’d wheedled, he doesn’t care if it’s a girl’s toy. He wants it. Let him keep it. 

Her cardigan was draped over a kitchen chair. She slid her arms into it easily, slipping on her flip flops and locked the door behind her. She deserved this. 

***

“Welcome to teacher in-service day,” Principal Washington’s eyes slid over the gaggle of weary-looking teachers, frowning into their cups of coffee, wiping the summer sleep from their eyes. “I know it’s hard to be back after an entire three months of sleeping in and vacationing, but we have students that will be walking through those doors,” he jutted his thumb at the front doors, just outside the auditorium to his left, “in a matter of days. If you see a new teacher, introduce yourself and see if you can help. We’re all on the same team.”

Benjamin Tallmadge shifted uncomfortably in his thick sweater, hiding the leather elbow patches against his side. He knew he was one of the only new teachers here, Washington had told him that much, at least, but he wasn’t sure if he wanted anyone to talk to him. He wasn’t exactly a master conversationalist at the first meeting. He was more of a second or third meeting kind of man. 

“You look terrified, young man,” a feminine voice behind him caught him off-guard. He jumped slightly, a rising of the shoulders that set her voice into a titter. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you.” 

He turned toward the voice, revealing an almost impossibly pretty girl with curly blonde hair that hung down to between her shoulder blades. Her eyes were the same blue as his own. She still had her laugh perched on her lips. 

“Margaret Shippen,” she introduced herself, “Math.” 

“Benjamin Tallmadge,” he replied. “English.” 

She smirked. “Of course you are,” her voice was light enough to be a purr, and it immediately sent a blush up his cheeks. “You look exactly like an English teacher. It’s nice to see someone that looks a little more – endearing than Mr. Arnold.” 

“Arnold?” 

“Oh, the English teacher you’re probably replacing,” she waved off his question. “He was a menace to the students. I hope you’ll be much better?” she raised her eyebrows, and even though it sounded vaguely like a challenge, Ben hoped suddenly to impress her. 

“I hope so too.” 

***

“So you mean to tell me that you weren’t with Abraham last night?” Selah’s voice, deep in his throat, never failed to make Anna feel immediately defensive. 

She sighed, pushing past her husband into the kitchen. “No, I was not with Abraham last night. I told you that I was working late. I don’t understand why you can’t believe me.” 

Selah crossed his arms over his chest. “Anna, you are incredibly adept at lying, and the only reason I know that is because I’ve known you my entire life. So that face you’re making right now?” he motioned to her grimace. “It’s your lying face. Why don’t you just come clean?” 

“How many times do I have to come clean to you, Selah?” she asked, exasperated. “You want me to admit every single indiscretion, and yet, here you are.” 

Selah considered her statement with a scowl. “What do you mean?” 

“I mean, if I’m such a liar, if my – arrangement with Abe is such an issue, then why are you still here?” she asked. 

“Because you’re my wife!” 

“Apparently not!” she exclaimed. “It took me sleeping with Abe for you to finally decide I was worth looking at again, and we both know that we’ve never been the marrying kind.” 

He surveyed her face, looking for that facial tick that he always seemed to spot. “Is that what you really want?” he asked, his voice softening. 

“Well, what the hell are we waiting for?” she asked, her voice growing to a shout as he moved away from her. She followed him, the force of her stomping shaking some hair loose from her bun. “It’s not like we’ve bothered to put this marriage back together.” 

He had reached the bedroom, and was opening the closet door, ignoring her. 

“What are you doing?” she asked as he reached inside and pulled out a suitcase. 

“What does it look like I’m doing?” he replied, opening a drawer and sweeping his hand through it, claiming all of his boxers in one go. “I’m leaving.” 

She faltered at the sudden inevitability of it. They had this fight once a week, almost, and neither of them ever left. This was the easy, habitual fighting that she had resigned them to. This was the only way they would feel anything for each other anymore, when they were shouting themselves hoarse and making up with a quick fuck that neither of them seemed to thoroughly enjoy. 

“You-you’re leaving?” 

He had already cleared out two more drawers. He turned back to her, his shirts gathered in his arms. “This is what you wanted,” he reminded her, dropping them into the almost full suitcase. “I’m not going to be a part of this sham anymore.” 

He tossed his jeans in after the shirts and zipped it up, leaving his wife standing stunned in their bedroom, staring around at the room. How much of this would he take? How much of this house, of herself, was wrapped inextricably around Selah and who he was? 

Was this what she really wanted? 

She couldn’t gather enough of her thoughts to call out to him, to stop him when she heard the front door open, gather into a loud creak, and slam shut. She let out a single sob as it did, her hand landing gently over her mouth. 

It was over. 

***

“Congratulations, Edmund,” John Andre said with the first hint of a smile that Edmund had ever seen. “Your Astronomy and Astrophysics Research Grant has been approved, and you are officially authorized to begin your research at your earliest convenience.” 

Edmund Hewlett tried to contain the beaming smile that threatened to take over his face. His proposal, for the investigations of the common-envelope phase of binary star evolution, had been on hold for almost two years, and his research had stalled in the meantime. But with his grant of almost half a million dollars, he could continue the work he had longed to pursue.

Andre seemed to sense the excitement lingering beneath the surface. “We are all very proud of what you have accomplished and what this means for you and for our program. So – how about a drink?” 

An hour later found Edmund wearing the same grin at the bar down the street, clutching a glass of deep red wine while Andre regaled him with stories of his girlfriend, a math teacher that Edmund only knew as Peggy. He hadn’t met her, but the way Andre talked about her, she must be a dazzling woman. 

And yet his eyes kept straying to a woman sitting at the end of the bar, her blonde hair straight and shining and the planes of her body thin and gorgeous. As if he knew her. 

“Are you alright?” Edmund asked. 

“Quite,” Andre replied, motioning to the bartender for another round. 

***

At the other end of the bar, Mary sipped her glass of vodka and cranberry juice with a sour face, trying to erase the thoughts of Abraham’s whereabouts from her mind. He was probably with Anna again, she thought bitterly, taking another swig of her drink. 

She felt rather than saw the man take the stool beside her. She shifted away from him. There were plenty of stools around here, why was he sitting here? She glanced around the bar, at the handsome man with the long hair sitting beside the dark haired one in a pair of black rimmed glasses, at the beautiful blonde woman at the other end of the bar, to the people occupying the booths. There were way better people to sit beside. Why her? 

“You look far too despondent to drink alone,” his voice was high, almost breathy, and she turned toward it expectantly. 

His eyes were a startling shade of blue, and his hair the same red that hers had been when she had been a child. She felt a momentary uneasiness when he smiled at her, but she pushed it away. After all, he chose to sit by her. 

That had to mean something, right?

***

“I don’t know why you insist on coming here if I continue to beat you,” Robert Townsend claimed the last few red pieces on the board triumphantly, raising his eyes to his opponent. “Honestly, it’s getting embarrassing.” 

Abraham ignored him, already setting up the pieces once more. Robert sighed heavily. 

“Mr. Woodhull, what is this about?” he asked. The man across the table was still silent, setting up the pieces diligently, studiously avoiding his eyes. He reached over the board to collect his pieces, close to Robert’s chest, and let his fingers brush over his hand.

“Avoiding your wife?” 

“Don’t talk about her,” Abraham finally hissed, and Robert rolled his eyes. 

“Then I don’t think I’ll be coerced into playing another game,” he snapped, rising from his seat. 

Abraham’s hand closed over his forearm and stopped his exit. Robert ignored the way his gut twisted when his fingers tightened over his wrist, keeping his face impassive. 

“Just one more game,” Abe was almost begging. 

Robert regained his seat. “You know, Mr. Woodhull, one day you’re going to have to stop playing these games altogether.” 

***

Philomena tried to ignore the sound of John Andre’s laughter as it wafted toward her on the same breath that brought the acrid smell of beer. She had been here first, she thought defiantly, she would not leave. 

Never mind that she was still bitter that he left her for a girl that looked a little too much like her. Never mind that he had come crawling back, asking her to dress just like his little “Peggy Shippen” to appease him. Never mind that he dumped her out in the cold when Peggy had come back. 

She would not leave.

“You look like you could use company,” a blonde woman slid into the spot beside her, motioning for the bartender easily with two fingers. He nodded at her and fixed her drink, settling it in front of her on top of a napkin. “And whatever the lady wants.” 

“Oh, I shouldn’t –” Philomena protested, but the woman, wearing a band t-shirt and cargo pants, ignored her.

“Sarah Livingston,” she said, extending her hand to shake. Philomena took it tentatively and shook it. “That guy at the bar,” she tilted her head at Andre, “was looking at you a little too often and you looked a little too – well, how do I put this – determined, so I decided to help you out.” 

“Help me out?” Philomena asked. 

“Give you company, help you ignore his existence,” Sarah shrugged. “I’m a big believer in women helping women. And you, my dear, needed help.” 

Philomena opened her mouth to protest, but Sarah’s raised eyebrows stopped her. “Thank you,” she said instead. 

“No problem,” Sarah said, sipping her drink. “So, what’s the name of the pretty lady that I might have totally creeped out?” 

Philomena suddenly realized she hadn’t given her name. “Oh, sorry. Philomena Cheer.” 

“Philomena?” Sarah repeated. “Talk about a fancy name. Sarah sounds downright boring in comparison.” 

Philomena let the self-deprecating comment pull a smile from her. Sarah truly was a charming, if a little overbearing, person, and she needed all of the friendship she could get. Without Andre, she had no one. Sarah’s eyes lingered on her for a moment, alight with a vigor that Philomena had missed, being stuck in her post-Andre slump. 

“What?” Sarah asked. 

Philomena blinked. “What?” 

“You’re staring at me,” Sarah replied, smirking. “Is it because I’m the soft butch woman of your dreams? Or because ponytail back there is still looking at you?” 

Philomena giggled and sipped her drink. “No, no, nothing like that. I was just – I was just thinking that I’m lucky that you decided to help me. I haven’t really been doing well in the friends department.” 

Sarah’s smirk settled into a genuine soft smile. “Well, ‘Mena, you have nothing to worry about now. You’ve got me.”   
***

The dinner hours were always the toughest on Caleb Brewster. By this point, his feet were killing him, the net that kept his beard from landing in his creations was starting to itch him, and he was damn near ready to tear off the head of the next person that sent back their food because it wasn’t cooked correctly. 

Caleb Brewster, sous chef, always cooked everything correctly, ignoring, of course, things as mundane as beef. His restaurant, Whaler’s Port, was almost exclusively a seafood restaurant, but they often dabbled in other, obscure dishes. The one thing they did not do, though, was beef. 

He raised his eyes to the clock again, shifting in his bright orange Crocs. He was about to hand over his shift, and he was ready, by golly. He had a date with a beer and the television, or something of that sort. And Benny boy would be by today to tell him about his first day as a teacher. 

“Alright, Brewster, out with yeh,” his replacement growled. “We got a line out the door and I gotta get started.” 

“Chef Rogers,” Caleb saluted, sailing out of the kitchen happily to wrench that God-awful beard net off his face. “Have a nice night.” 

“Yeh, yeh,” the man grunted as he left. 

***

Billy watched the teacher in-service nightmare from his post at the front desk, phone permanently perched beside his ear. 

“Yes, ma’am, your son needs to have all of his immunizations before he can attend school,” he said almost robotically. “Yes, ma’am, all of them. Okay, thank you.” 

As soon as he hung up the phone, it rang again. 

“Culper High School, how can I help you?” he listened to the hysterical father on the other end of the line. “I’m sorry, sir, no, we will not punish your son if he wears a pink shirt to school. No. That is not against the dress code.” 

He shook his head and hung up the phone again, glaring at it, willing it to ring again. Being the front office manager the few days before a high school opened for the new year was true hell. Parents seemed to forget the simplest of tasks, from bringing their students birth certificates to registration or even when registration happened at all. Never mind the parents that somehow wanted the school to keep apart a new boyfriend and girlfriend, as if they worked their entire schedule around those sorts of things. 

He sighed heavily. He had been answering the phone since seven that morning and it was only – three p.m. 

The door gently pushed open and he saw the back of Abigail’s braided hair, hanging low down her back. “I bring sustenance,” she said cheerfully, her white lab coat just slightly too long on her. She was holding a cardboard carton of coffee. 

“You are the best,” he gushed, reaching for the cup marked with his name. He noticed the way she grinned a little wider at his praise, her eyes falling to the cups and away from his gaze. 

He always had the idea that Abigail might have a crush on him, but never was it more apparent than her behavior at the beginning of the year, when they had spent an entire summer apart, living their own lives. He surveyed her as she cradled her own cup of coffee, her eyes darting up to meet his every few moments. 

The idea made him smile.


	2. Fireflies

There were fireflies on the balcony of John Simcoe’s bedroom, flitting around like fairy lights in the middle of those wooden clearings and campsites that always looked ethereal and ephemeral but were usually sticky with humidity and crawling with bugs. Still, through the sliding glass door, the fireflies looked beautiful, momentary, like a firecracker that never went off but faded gently into the darkness. Mary Woodhull cradled her glass of scotch in her hand, the glass resting against her bare chest as she stared. 

What had she done? 

Her decision to come back to John’s house – he asked that she call him John instead of Simcoe, which she had originally chosen as the more definitive of his names – had been a sudden one, a sort of spontaneous decision she hadn’t had the freedom to make since she had decided to marry Thomas. After that, all of her decisions had been made for her, pulling her along like a calf to slaughter; a slow, deliberate slaughter that she was just supposed to take with silent compliance. 

He had kissed her reverently, gently, like she was breakable, until her hands reached for his belt. After that, it had been something of a battle for dominance that he had eventually conceded. He was – dangerous, she knew. There was something in his eyes that frightened her, but no one had treated her with such tenderness and such fierceness before. She had never been more than an accessory. And knowing that she was the one with the power here, at least as long as he allowed it, made her feel confident, important. 

“You can open the door if you want to go out there,” he said from the bed, where he was sipping his own glass of scotch. “The balcony is probably pretty cozy right now.” 

“I’m married,” she said quietly, her breath frosting up the glass. She heard him pause in what she assumed was his rise from the bed. Soon enough, the sounds continued until he was pressed against her back, too tall to rest his chin on her shoulder. 

His voice was soft and not at all angry like she expected it to be. “I know,” he agreed. “You never took your wedding ring off.” 

Her eyes dropped down to it, reflecting the faint light of the fireflies. “But – but you –”

“Mary, we have no future, you know that. That wasn’t what you wanted from me,” his fingers kneaded into the knots at the base of her neck. She let her head fall to her shoulder, giving him better access to the spot that ached the most. He obliged her, the pads of his fingers just pressing and releasing in the most delicious way. “I am available for whatever you want from me. Whether that is talking, drinking, or – this.” 

She groaned as his fingers pushed deeper into her flesh, his other hand bracing against her hip as she swayed forward with the press. She let his hand on her hip slowly turn her to face him, and she kissed him softly, as a gesture of thanks. 

“I’ll think about it,” she answered against his lips, even as she felt her hands guiding him back toward the bed. He grinned against her mouth just moments before she shoved him away from her and onto the bed, setting her glass of scotch down so it could wait until it was a victory drink, a celebratory reward after winning another battle with herself, with her guilt, and with her empty marriage. 

The morning dawned without fireflies. Mary Woodhull watched the sun come up, John’s breathing steady and quiet beside her. She had been dressed since he drifted off hours ago, but she couldn’t bring herself to leave. Leaving meant her little bubble of fantasy would be popped, and reality would set in again.

When the alarm on her phone buzzed at 6:30, she was holding her phone in her hand, her fingers curled around the doorknob. She had left her phone number on a sticky note on top of John’s phone after multiple attempts to break past his password to program it into his phone herself. 

Would she ever come back here? 

The door closed quietly behind her, and she dialed a cab, trying to reconcile herself with the notion that what had happened last night was a bad thing. She was an adulteress now; she was just like Anna Strong, the woman she had spent years despising in the name of her marriage. She couldn’t now – she knew how it felt, to enact revenge through another man, to feel alive under the hands of someone that hadn’t made any vows that dictated forever and always. 

She thought, when she learned of Abraham’s adultery, that she would never feel powerful again; she would always be weak – too weak to leave him, too weak to say something. But now, she had done something, given him the same treatment he always gave her. 

She wiped away the tear she hadn’t noticed she shed as the cab pulled up. The guilt bubbled in her stomach, mixing with the twisted satisfaction that her night with John had left behind.

Would she let it happen again? 

Abraham’s truck was in the driveway when she got home; the guilt in her stomach roiled at the sight. How would she face him? She locked her car door behind her, thankful that she had remembered to collect her car instead of telling the cab driver to take her straight home and took deep, steadying breaths. He faced her every day, the taste of Anna on his lips, and had no problem lying. 

She wouldn’t either. 

He was sitting at the table, watching Thomas play with his Cheerios when she pushed the doors open. He looked exhausted; red rings surrounded his eyes, the lines on his forehead deeper than they had been yesterday. 

“Where have you been?” he asked. “I got home and no one was here. I had to call Samuel.” 

She ignored him and went to her son. “Hey baby, Momma’s home!” 

“Mama!” 

She beamed at him, kissing the top of his head. “Good boy.” Behind her, Abraham scoffed, an aggrieved, annoyed sound that made Mary smirk. “Momma’s going to take a shower.” 

“Mary, are you even listening to me?” 

She rolled her eyes on her way to the bedroom, dropping her purse on the table in the hallway beside a candle they never lit. “Yes, Abraham, I am. I am choosing not to respond.” 

“Why?” 

“Because frankly, I don’t see how it’s any of your business where I was. I haven’t interrogated you in quite some time – I think it’s high time you returned the favor.” She rummaged through her drawers, grabbing a new pair of underwear and a loose t-shirt the color of wine. 

Abraham was standing in the doorway, at the perfect place to block her exit. “Mary –”

“I went to the bar, okay?” she exclaimed, irritated. Even in this, she couldn’t be treated the same way he expected to be treated. “And I got trashed – completely drunk. I think that’s reasonable considering we have no Jim Beam left in the house.” 

His face morphed quickly from accusatory to chagrined. “I’m sorry about the –”

“I don’t –” she stopped herself quickly before she could speak her mind. “Don’t worry about it. It doesn’t matter.” 

He let her pass on her way to the shower. The temptation to accuse him of spending all night with Anna was lingering in the back of her throat, but she swallowed it down. She no longer had any room to judge. 

“Wait –” he was watching her undress from the door of the bathroom, his eyes not even dropping to her naked body. She felt her guilt lessen slightly – John couldn’t keep his eyes off her body, even with the stretch marks on her lower abdomen from carrying Thomas. “If you got drunk, then where did you stay last night?” 

She turned away from him to turn on the shower. “At a friend’s.” 

He was staring at her when she straightened up, but he didn’t say anything. 

***

“I don’t understand your infatuation with the boy,” John Andre tied his striped tie with a little more vigor than usual, the knot tightening against his throat. Perhaps it was his wardrobe’s way of telling him that he was being too forward with his emotions, too jealous. Peggy tutted and turned away from him, toward the full-length mirror hanging from the door. 

“Dearest, I never said I was infatuated with anyone,” she noted, her voice delicate but serious. “I just said that I thought he was charming. His naïveté; he’s still so wet behind the ears. I daresay he’s never seen the inside of the classroom other than his observations.” 

Andre tried to keep his mouth shut; he knew this was a conversation he wasn’t likely to win if it turned into an argument, but he heard in her Peggy’s voice what she seemed to be missing. That lilt, the sweet way her lips turned upward when she talked about him. 

“You certainly seem to talk about him a lot,” he remarked. Peggy paused in the motion of pinning up her hair. 

“For a man who professes his ability to land any woman, you certainly have a lot of insecurity today,” she replied, her voice cool. 

“Peggy –”

“No, John. I know where conversations like this go,” she cut him off, securing the last few pins in her chignon and turning to face him. “I will not allow you to dictate who I talk to and talk about because it ruffles your very pretty feathers. He is a colleague, and one that Principal Washington asked me to guide. If you don’t like it – I suggest you find a way to tolerate it.” 

She didn’t allow him time for a rebuttal, though he didn’t have one prepared. She gave him one last lingering look before she stomped out of the room, her heels already on. He listened to the click of the shoes as they navigated their master down the hall, to the door, and out into the driveway. 

He sighed. How was he supposed to tell her that his insecurity lied in seeing Philomena the night before? Peggy hardly knew anything about her, as most women didn’t want to know about their boyfriend’s ex. His own decision to go back to Philomena the last time Peggy had left him made her an even bigger secret. Peggy wasn’t a jealous woman, but she was a covetous one. Even in their brief few weeks apart, he was still hers. Knowing that he had so easily relapsed with his most recent ex would create a rift he might not be able to mend. 

He yanked his tie, still too tight against his throat, and decided to discard it for the day. As he was rolling it up to replace it in his drawer, his phone let out a loud jingle that startled him. He cursed quietly, under his breath, as if someone could hear him. 

“Edmund,” he greeted. The man on the other end of the phone replied with too much cheer for a Monday morning. 

“I’m supposed to call and remind you that you and I have a meeting in an hour to discuss the next step of my research,” he said. “I had an alarm set and everything.” 

Ahh yes, the research and development meetings. Now Edmund’s chipper attitude made sense. “Of course,” he replied. “Thank you, I had already forgotten.” 

“I’m picking up some coffee,” Edmund continued. “Would you like one?” 

Andre smiled in spite of himself. Despite his horrible morning, Edmund’s positivity was leaking through the phone. Usually, the man was so dour, so buttoned up, seeing him a little more at ease, fueled by excitement, was a nice change. 

“Sure,” Andre replied. “Whatever you’re having.” 

Edmund answered his affirmative and hung up, turning his eyes to the menu. Now, what was he even having? He felt the sudden pressure of choosing something good so Andre would be pleased. He wasn’t Edmund’s boss, per se, but he had enough clout that making him happy was a constant pressure on his shoulders. 

Still, nothing could dampen his good mood. He had gotten his grant! The idea still made him giddy to the tips of his fingers, and he tapped them against his leg rapidly, a smile taking over his face. And in doing so, he had managed to finally get invited out to get drinks with his not-quite-boss. The latter was a first, and after working there for almost five years, he had already resigned himself to being the guy that never really had friends at his job. He was too wrapped up in the research, in the stars. 

But now – he felt his fortune shifting. 

“Can I get two caramel macchiatos, please?” he asked the barista. “Uh…venti?” Starbucks sizes were vexing, to say the least. The barista nodded and picked up her marker, giving him that expectant stare that he never quite knew how to take. Oh, his name! “Edmund,” he provided helpfully, and she diligently wrote it down, spelling it incorrectly. Oh well. 

He paid and moved toward the little counter that was used as the coffee delivery service and waited. 

“Selah, just pick up the phone,” a woman’s voice intruded on his happy thoughts. His eyes shifted toward the back of her head, impossibly long, dark hair, messy and tangled. Her jeans were so old that the hems at the bottom were frayed and several inches shorter than the front. “I’ve called you a thousand times. I said I was sorry.” 

“Anna,” the man at the counter called, his eyes falling to the woman on the phone, too distracted with her one-sided voicemail conversation to hear. 

“If you want to leave, that’s fine, but at least call me back, please,” she was almost crying now, and Edmund felt completely rude and weird knowing he could hear what was surely a desperate attempt at reconciliation. 

“Anna,” the man called again, this time his voice tinged with annoyance. The woman – Anna, she must be – still ignored him, tears falling in earnest now. Edmund, in an attempt to shut himself out of her conversation, to give her privacy, turned away from her in time to see a man who was definitely not named Anna come up and swipe her drink. The man at the counter shrugged and went back to his job.

Edmund considered stopping the man who was not making off with Anna’s drink. Surely she ordered it because she wanted it. But how would he explain to her how he knew her name? How would he give it to her without looking weird or creepy? How would he manage any of those social interactions without bungling them? 

By the time he decided that he would get her drink back because she needed a pick-me-up, the man was long gone, and he had waited too long again. He sighed. 

“Edmund!” the man at the counter called, and Edmund claimed his drinks immediately, narrowing his eyes at – he glanced at the nametag – Raul, who looked supremely unapologetic. By now, Anna had hung up the phone and was glancing hopefully toward the counter, and Edmund felt sympathy slam into his chest at the sight of her eyes. 

Swollen with tears, ringed with red, and desperate to find something – the meaning of life or caffeine, he couldn’t be sure, but he wanted to give it to her. He could see that she was beautiful before he even saw her face, but now that he had seen it – he steeled his courage and walked up to her, his heart pounding loudly in his chest. 

“You must be Anna,” he began tentatively, and as her eyes locked on his, he momentarily lost his courage. She held an ocean in her eyes, the pull of the tides, the power of the moon, and years of experience bared for him to taste, but not see. 

“Do I know you?” she asked. Her voice was raspy, quiet. 

He cleared his throat, trying to finish the conversation he started. “Uh – no, you don’t, at least, I don’t think you do. But – ah, it seems that Raul, the rascal behind the counter, gave away your drink to someone else. If Anna is your name, of course. If not, then I apologize.” 

“No, no, Anna is my name,” she answered. “He gave it away?” 

Edmund nodded. “He uh, called your name a few times and then someone else just took it and –” he glanced down at the two cups in his hands. “Do you like caramel?” he asked, making a spontaneous decision. 

Andre would forgive him. 

Her eyes fell to his cup. “I couldn’t –”

“I insist,” he pressed the cup in her hands. “I just let that coffee thief escape with your beverage, it’s the least I can do.” 

She was cradling it in her hands now, letting the warmth seep through the travel cup and warm her hands. He watched the peaceful smile take over her face and suppressed his own, satisfied that he had – at least marginally – made her day a little better. 

“Well, I – I had better go –”

“Oh, wait!” she called as he turned to retreat. “Do you want to – I don’t know – sit and talk? I don’t even know your name.” 

“Edmund Hewlett,” he obliged her. 

“Anna Strong,” she replied. 

Strong; what a fitting name for her, he noted, taking in the strong jaw, the lines of her bone structure. She motioned toward a table with two chairs close to the window. He followed her to it, waiting until she sat before claiming his own chair. He wasn’t sure where to go from here; he wasn’t the guy that talked to girls in coffee shops, or offered them their extra coffee. He was the guy that fantasized about meeting a girl in a coffee shop one day but just kind of shuffled in and out of all coffee-selling establishments, too afraid to make eye contact. 

She took a sip of the coffee and closed her eyes in rapture. He watched her closely, finding her incredibly charming. 

“This is amazing, thank you so much,” she said, still holding the cup with both of her hands. “I’ve had the worst day.” 

“I figured,” he said before he could censor himself. Her eyes rose to his, quizzical, and he was forced to continue. “I – I kind of heard part of your – conversation.” 

She looked momentarily taken aback but her face quickly morphed into resignation. “I wouldn’t call it a conversation. My husband, he – he uh, left yesterday.” 

His eyes immediately fell to her left hand, bare. She saw his eyes drop and fidgeted with the finger in question. “I guess we haven’t even felt like a married couple in years, but – knowing that he was finally giving up is – I don’t know, a shock, I suppose.” 

An hour later, she was crying again, and Edmund was passing her his handkerchief, and he was intimately aware of her adultery, of her guilt, of her self-loathing. Still, she had entranced him with her brutal honesty, with the way she criticized herself and others in the same breath. She was – a hurricane – a storm he couldn’t contain, but was blessed to watch, unafraid of her damage. 

That is, until her hand dropped on top of his. 

“Let me buy you another coffee,” she said, wiping her wet eyelashes. “You’ve listened to me rant and you don’t even know me. I owe you that much.” 

He smiled in spite of himself. “Sometimes you just need a stranger to talk to,” he pointed out. 

***

“Don’t you have another day of teacher in-whatever today?” Caleb asked, his feet on top of the coffee table. Mondays were his days off, and he cherished them, especially since everyone else loathed them. Ben settled deeper into the couch beside him, his head falling to his friend’s shoulder. 

“It doesn’t start for the new teachers until the afternoon,” he said. “New teachers are helping with registration in the morning.” 

Caleb chuckled. “None of those things mean anything to me.” Ben elbowed him but laughed with him. “So, how is working for Dreamy George Washington?” 

Ben felt his face flush. “I swear to God, Caleb –”

“Oh, don’t do that, Benny, your father will descend upon us, screeching about using the Lord’s name in vain –”

“If you call him that one more time –”

“You had a huge crush on the man, it’s my right as ex-boyfriend-slash-best friend to tease you about it,” Caleb poked Ben in the cheek. “Look at your face! It’s so red!” 

“He is my boss, Caleb,” Ben protested. “Besides, he’s a straight, married man.” 

“Well, that’s the hazard of being a bisexual man, isn’t it? The straight ones?” 

Ben lifted his head from Caleb’s shoulder long enough to kiss the spot his head had just been resting on. “Thank you, for not being – you know – weird about it.” 

“About us breaking up, you mean?” Caleb asked. “You’re my best friend, always have been, always will be, no matter what we call ourselves. Besides, I understand the impulse to save the friendship.” 

“Still –”

Caleb’s hand landed on Ben’s thigh and squeezed. “I get it,” he reassured him seriously. He let himself get momentarily lost in Ben’s eyes before he cleared his throat and broke the spell. “So – tell me about the other teachers. Anyone we know?” 

“Well, there’s Billy in the front office,” Ben noted. “And Abby is the school nurse.” 

“Are those two together yet?” Caleb asked, a smile on the edge of his mouth. “Because you can tell that Abby is completely smitten with him.” 

Ben smiled softly at the idea. “Not together yet, but hopefully –”

Caleb made a noise of agreement. “Okay, who else?” 

“Do you remember ever hearing of a man named Benedict Arnold?” Ben asked. “Apparently he’s the guy I’m replacing.” 

“Arnold?” Caleb repeated, tasting the name in his mouth. “Nope, not that I know of.” 

“One of the other teachers said his name like I would know him,” Ben explained. 

Caleb shrugged. “Which teacher?” 

“Margaret Shippen,” Ben said, lingering on her first name a moment too long. Caleb furrowed his brows. “She teaches math.” 

Caleb grinned. “Okay, and?” 

Ben turned toward him. “And what?” 

“You said her name like there was more to that story. Are you holding out on me, Tallboy?” Caleb shifted on the couch so he was turned more completely toward him, his knee pressed to his thigh. 

Ben laughed. “Of course not,” he protested. “She was just nice to me, that’s all.” 

Caleb paused in his laughter. “Ben. Was she flirting with you?” 

Ben narrowed his eyes in thought. “No – no, I don’t think so.” 

Caleb surveyed his friend. “Okay, did she introduce herself like –” he straightened himself on the couch and offered his hand. “Margaret Shippen. I teach math.” His tone was deadpan, his handshake firm. “Or, did she do it like this –” his shoulders relaxed, and his tone dropped. “Margaret Shippen,” he practically purred, and Ben was suddenly hearing the words coming from her mouth again. “Math.” Caleb’s hand was soft and pliant in his own, the fingers brushing the rough calluses on the palm of his hand. 

“The second one?” The upward inflection in Ben’s statement sent Caleb into a fit of giggles. “I think?” 

“Oh, Benny Boy Tallmadge, you poor sap,” Caleb said, patting him on the shoulder. “Whoever she is, she’s gonna eat you alive.” 

***

Philomena woke late in the afternoon, her head pounding. Her bleary eyes peered around the dark room, disoriented and lost. This wasn’t her bedroom. Where was she? She sat up slowly, trying to let her eyes adjust to the dark. She could just make out a dresser along the opposite wall, cluttered with tubes of something she didn’t recognize. Beside it was an easel. The table beside the bed had a glass of water on it and, without thinking, she reached for it and drank until it was empty. 

Her mouth still felt like it was full of cotton. She stood on unsteady legs and stepped into the hallway. The white walls had splatters of paint on them, with canvases of the same style hanging like a gallery. Little cards were tacked beside them with a title and a medium. 

“Apple orchards at dusk – oils”

“Her eyelashes – pencil”

“That elusive ocean – watercolors”

“You’re awake!” 

Sarah was, good Lord, in a pair of plaid men’s boxers and a bright blue bra, pencils stuffed into her bun, smears of oils all up her arms. Philomena took in the sight like she would a disaster – that is, before she noticed that Sarah had spoken to her. 

“What? Oh, yes. How did we get here?” she asked, rubbing the pain in between her eyes with her fingers, trying to banish the notion that she was also covered in those oils. Sarah smiled at her for a moment before she moved away and into what looked like a tiny kitchen. She rummaged in a cabinet and pulled out tea bags and a kettle. 

“Let me make you some tea,” she said, already filling the kettle with water. “There’s some aspirin in there –” her bare foot tapped one of the drawers just inside the kitchen, “if you need some.” 

Philomena muttered her thanks and reached for the drawer, her hands landing immediately on the small white bottle that housed Tylenol. 

“I didn’t know you were an artist,” she noted as she twisted it open, taking the offered glass of water from Sarah with a quick ‘thank you.’ 

“Ah,” Sarah’s eyes rose from the kettle to the rest of the apartment. “Well, I’m not particularly successful, but – you know, here’s hoping.” She crossed her fingers and grinned, and Philomena couldn’t suppress a smile at the smear of bright blue over her eyebrow. 

“You have –” she motioned at the smear and, when she couldn’t describe the spot correctly, simply reached up and wiped it away, smearing it even more. She showed Sarah the blue stain on her finger as an explanation, but her eyes were a little lost, focused on something far away. 

The silence stretched. Philomena cleared her throat and turned toward the living room. “What are you…drawing? Painting? Making?” 

Sarah laughed, a full belly laugh that brought a smile to Philomena’s lips. “You can call it whichever,” she supplied. “Go see for yourself.” 

Philomena moved into the living room, carefully avoiding different art supplies spread on every available surface to find the canvas. It was a new project, so she couldn’t quite make it out, but there was something…familiar about it. 

The brown background, the yellow in the foreground, the lines of someone’s posture, it was all very vague. Suddenly, it hit her. 

“Are you drawing me?” she asked, halfway between horrified and flattered. Sarah made an affirmative noise from the kitchen as the kettle whistled. “Why?” 

She poured the tea, still not making eye contact. “What can I say? I only paint beautiful things, and you, Philomena, with your sad eyes and graceful hands, are beautiful. I can’t just let a masterpiece like you exist without committing you to canvas.” 

Philomena smiled, turning her eyes back to the canvas. “That’s…really sweet.” 

Sarah chuckled. “You think it’s sweet now, just wait until it’s finished. By then, you’ll be in love with me.” 

***

“Abby, my dear, please just ask him out already,” Peggy implored Abigail, who was studiously not looking in Billy’s direction. Manning the freshman table had been designated a Peggy and Abigail job almost four years ago, when Peggy had to swoop in and save the poor, terrified freshmen from the denigrating gaze of Benedict Arnold. 

Abigail scoffed and passed yet another schedule to a new freshman with a warm smile. “I can’t.” 

“And why not?” 

Abigail’s eyes refused to meet hers. “What about Akinbode?” 

Peggy allowed herself a moment before she responded. There were few people she liked less than Akinbode. While not a bad guy, his decision to up and abandon Abigail and Cicero put him permanently on Peggy’s shit list. The man had been gone for over a year now, and Abigail still held out hope that he’d return one day. 

It was unrealistic. 

“We’ve talked about this,” Peggy replied. “You know how I feel –”

“I do –”

Peggy pushed on nonetheless. “But if you have feelings for Billy, then I think that shows you can move on. You’ve allowed yourself to like him. Give yourself a chance.” 

Abigail’s eyes rose from the registration forms and lingered on Peggy’s for a moment. “Is that how you feel?” she asked. “Or – how you felt? When you and John got back together?” 

Peggy’s eyes left Abigail’s for a moment and managed to catch sight of Benjamin Tallmadge at the doors of the gym, watching the chaos with a smile on his face, his sweater with the leather patched elbows back on. 

“Uh –” Peggy tore her eyes from him and turned back to Abigail. “Sure.”


	3. Flushed Cheeks

After his talk with Anna, another cup of coffee, and the perilous decision to program his number into her phone, Edmund arrived to his meeting with John Andre minus one coffee and an entire hour and a half late. He skidded into the man’s office, his loafers squeaking loudly against the tile floor, sweat matting his dark hair to his forehead. 

“Sorry, sorry!” he apologized.

“You were the one that reminded me about the meeting!” Andre exclaimed, exasperated. Edmund flushed in embarrassment. “How did you just forget it?” 

Edmund dropped his gaze to the floor, chagrined. He had been waiting for this meeting for years, the doorway to a much larger opportunity, and a pair of dark eyes had distracted him. He wanted to be ashamed, but the thought of those eyes in particular brought up the vision of them, and he couldn’t bring himself to feel shame. He raised his eyes from the floor, and met Andre’s quizzical visage. Oh, he expected him to answer what Edmund had previously thought was a rhetorical question. 

“Oh, uh – well, I, ah – I got…” what was the word he could use? He had gotten distracted? He had been charmed by a woman? All of the excuses sounded completely transparent and not at all important enough to miss an important meeting. Andre exhaled heavily through his nose, like an angry bull, and Edmund was prompted to respond. “It’s kind of a long…a long story.” 

“I’m listening.” 

Edmund retreated to a chair, trying to find a way to word his experience in the coffee shop as something more than the beginning to a trashy romance novel, or a romantic comedy. After a few moments of silence, and another huff from Andre, he resigned himself to the story as it was. 

Andre listened intently to the story, his face softening as Edmund described Anna Strong crying, looking for her coffee and realizing that it was gone. Edmund told him that he offered Anna his own extra coffee, hoping it would make her feel better, and Andre smirked. 

“You know that this isn’t a good excuse for missing a previously scheduled meeting, Dr. Hewlett,” he pointed out, leaning back in the chair he had taken as the story had continued. 

“I know, sir,” Edmund was chagrined once more, but Andre was smiling again. 

“But –” Edmund raised his head, “I can see how the opportunity could not be passed.” 

Edmund grinned. “And I have her number now.” 

Andre surveyed him like a proud father. “And are you going to call her?” 

Edmund’s smile slid off his face like water. Would he call her? What would he say? The insecurity was bubbling up in him again. Andre seemed to sense the change in his demeanor, and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. 

“You know you don’t have to call her,” he said, and Edmund was momentarily aghast. Of course he had to call her! Andre just didn’t understand; he hadn’t seen her face. He hadn’t fallen head first into her eyes. 

“I suppose…” he said instead. 

“Let the winds of chance carry you,” Andre replied. “And who knows, maybe she’ll call you.” 

Edmund considered the easier, more cowardly option. Yes, maybe she would call him, but would she? If she had the option, would she even think of him? He didn’t think it was a question that could be answered in a manner that would comfort him. 

Perhaps he wouldn’t call her. 

He furrowed his brow. The logical events following calling Anna Strong would be this: he would ask her if she was okay, feeling too ridiculous to ask her on an actual date, remembering as he spoke to her that she was in the middle of dealing with her husband leaving her, and then feeling completely horrendous for calling her in the first place. That botched conversation would stay with him for weeks at a time, and he would resolve to never call her again. Then he would have to find a new coffee shop, and a new coffee to drink. 

No, he definitely wouldn’t call her. 

***

Dusk fell the way Abraham got inebriated; slowly, gradually, and then all at once. He watched the sun drift toward the tree line, the rays warming his face as he slowly but systematically poured scotch down his throat. His phone, resting beside his thigh on the bench, had been vibrating almost consistently since sundown. He didn’t have to look at it to know who it was; Anna. 

But whether she was calling him to meet or to argue with him, he couldn’t tell from the screen depicting her name, and answering the phone was too much of a commitment. He had walked to the park the moment that Thomas had drifted off to an early sleep, citing an excuse he couldn’t remember and didn’t care to relive. 

Mary came home in the morning after a night of drinking. Never, in their entire life together did he ever remember Mary drinking enough to get drunk, much less staying out all night. The way she carried herself – the way she looked at him – he knew what that meant. It was the same look he’d had for over a year now. 

Defeat. 

He couldn’t say for sure if she had cheated on him; he didn’t want to dwell on it. He had no right to accuse her of anything, and judging by the withering look she’d given him, she knew that. 

Time ticked mercilessly on, and the scotch bottle got determinedly more empty, until it slipped from Abraham’s grip and tipped over, the liquid in it so sparse that it didn’t even spill. 

How would he get home? 

The thought was an impulsive and immediately repulsive one. He didn’t want to go home – he wasn’t sure he could sleep in the same bed that Mary occupied. Their home was hollow, their discarded love rattling around like a single penny inside a piggy bank that had been long forgotten. 

He registered dimly that he was picking up his phone and pressing in familiar numbers. 

Robert found him lying on top of the still open scotch bottle, his head hanging off the bench, staring at the stars. 

“God dammit, Woodhull,” he muttered, trudging up to him. He had felt hope kindle in his chest when his phone had lit up, thinking that perhaps Abraham had wanted to meet up, to play checkers again. He felt almost pathetic, wishing for the smallest opportunities for contact with the man, trying to find out just exactly what Abraham wanted from him. 

But Abraham’s voice was slurred, too scattered. He was closer to the hysterical side of drunk, the side that Robert didn’t really care for. But when Robert had said he’d pick him up and take him back to his apartment, his voice had eased up, and his thanks were profuse. 

“Abraham,” Robert nudged his shoulder, lifting him gently into a sitting position. “You’re lying on your scotch.” 

“Oh no,” Abraham murmured, his voice so sad that Robert smiled in spite of himself. 

“Yes, oh no,” Robert agreed, slipping his arm underneath Abraham’s and around his back. “Come on, you bloody fool. Let’s go.” 

Abraham followed readily enough, his arm resting over Robert’s shoulder, clenching tightly into the material of his flannel shirt. Robert’s mind immediately jumped to less innocent ways that he could have Abraham clutching onto his shirt like that. But Abraham was muttering under his breath about Anna and Mary, and Robert suddenly felt sullied. Of course Abraham didn’t think of him that way. The man couldn’t even sort out his heterosexual issues, much less the palpable tension between himself and another man. 

He slid easily into the passenger seat of the car, pulling his knees up to his chest and resting his chin on top of them. 

“Abraham, put your legs down so I can buckle you in,” Robert ordered, trying to use his strict voice. Abraham gazed up at him through his eyelashes, feigning innocence. 

“Imma be okayhmmm,” he murmured, but Robert tutted.

“It’s against the law, Abraham, put your legs down.” 

After a few more minutes of coaxing and reprimanding, Abraham and Robert descended into a rather childish game of Too Slow, where Abraham would drop his knees long enough for Robert to try to buckle his seat belt, but when the belt was halfway across his lap, he would swat his hands away and pull his knees back up, making it impossible to click the belt into place. Every time, his knees would catch Robert around the fleshy part of his upper arm, and they would be wrenched into close quarters, noses practically brushing. 

Robert could feel his face flushing, the heat burning his ears. Finally, when he managed to quickly shove the belt into place, Abraham brought his knees up anyway, and pushed Robert into his personal space again. This time, however, Abraham’s eyes met his, almost too close to maintain eye contact. 

Robert could feel his heart thumping loudly in his chest, the material of his shirt shifting with every beat. Abraham’s hand settled over the traitorous muscle, his eyes dropping to his hand and rising back to Robert’s eyes. 

“Your heart –” he murmured, the words slipping between his lips like a sigh, and Robert felt suddenly trapped, pinned in place. 

Abraham’s hand slipped from its place, his eyes dropping to his lap, and suddenly, the moment was broken, and Robert remained where he was for a few moments, stunned. 

Had that just happened? 

He drove in silence, trying not to let his eyes stray to the now sleeping man in the passenger seat. It would be so easy to pretend that this had never happened, that it had all been some sort of weird fever dream. But would Abraham remember when he woke up the next morning? Would he wonder why Robert didn’t move away from him? 

It took him a few moments to gather his thoughts enough to help Abraham out of the passenger seat, but Abraham was a willing participant, his arm around Robert’s shoulders. This was easier, he thought, hoping that he had endured enough torture for the night. He was quiet now, his eyes open and taking in Robert’s tightened face, the blush refusing to dissipate from his cheeks. 

“Okay, let’s get you to bed,” he murmured, supporting the man into his guest room, tucking him into the bed. He left him there for a moment, retrieving a glass of water and aspirin to leave on the side table. 

Abraham’s eyes were still open when he returned. Against his better judgement, he let his gaze fall to him. He felt immediately insecure under the scrutiny of his gaze, but couldn’t keep himself from lowering himself to the edge of the bed. He sat there, trying to read the expression on Abraham’s face unsuccessfully. 

“Robert?” his voice was soft, tentative, and his hand was reaching for the material of his shirt again, and before Robert could stop what he considered to be some sort of slow momentum, Abraham’s lips were pressed sloppily to his, almost missing his mouth entirely. Too frightened and too shocked to do anything else, he let it happen, only relaxing when Abraham pulled away long enough to get a better seal on his lips. 

He tasted like scotch and a little like sweat, and nothing like what Robert imagined he would taste like. Robert was turned at an uncomfortable angle, still trying to sit at what he considered to be a respectful distance from a drunk man, but Abraham was pulling at his shirt, and when that wasn’t successful, his hand dropped to the loop of his belt. 

That was enough to jolt him out of whatever spell he had been under, and he bolted like he was on fire, closing the door behind him. He leaned against it, breathing heavily. He felt – jittery, dirty. Abraham was drunk, clearly not thinking straight, and was definitely vulnerable. How had he allowed this to happen? 

He resigned himself to a cold shower as punishment. With any luck, Abraham wouldn’t remember this in the morning. 

***

The last day of teacher in-service was always the most relaxing to Peggy. The teachers were given the last day to decorate their classrooms as they saw fit, making sure all of their supplies were in place, all of the technology working. But Peggy had been in the same classroom for years, and her computer worked like a dream (thanks to her own secret modifications). 

So instead of spending her day in her own classroom, she allowed herself the freedom to explore, poking her head into different classrooms, offering help where she could. She avoided the English hallway as long as she could, knowing that the bundle of nerves in her belly were caused by Benjamin Tallmadge, not by the looming beginning of the school year. 

She could not reconcile her reasoning behind her immediate infatuation with Benjamin Tallmadge. Sure, the boy was beautiful, that much was blatantly obvious, but she knew so little about him. Perhaps it was the pure innocence that clouded his face. She hadn’t had that breath of fresh air in so long. It was an intoxicating change, a man that bore his emotions all over his face, that couldn’t hide his feelings even in a simple introduction. 

Soon enough, her feet found the English hallway, and in what felt like no time at all, she was poking her head into Ben’s new classroom. She ignored the memories that came rushing back to her. Arnold had occupied this room until only recently. The arguments they’d had in this room…

“Oh, Margaret!” he had spotted her. He had decided to forgo his elbow-patched cardigan this time, opting instead for a simple t-shirt and a pair of jeans, worn at the knees. It was a devilishly good look for him. Peggy drank it in, leaning against the doorframe. His eyes caught her downward movement, but he didn’t say anything.

“Call me Peggy, please,” she waved off her formal first name, and watched as he smiled, committing her name to his memory. “I was just looking around to see if anyone needed help putting their room together.” 

Ben cast his eyes around the room; taking in the half-hung inspirational posters, the dusty desk that still had old graded papers on it, and the white board that had no markers. “Uh…maybe.” She followed his gaze. To a new teacher, the room must look daunting.

Peggy chuckled softly, stepping into the room and slipping her heels off. “I am at your service, Benjamin Tallmadge.” 

He surveyed her for a moment, the motion of her removing her shoes catching him off-guard. His gaze fell to her bare feet, her toenails painted a dainty pink. A smile quirked his lips. 

“Why don’t you hang those,” he pointed to the posters on the other side of the room, “and I’ll clean off this desk.” 

The thought of what that desk could be hiding sent a grimace over Peggy’s mouth. “Why don’t we switch?” she asked. “If I recall correctly, that should all be Benedict’s old stuff. I will know what to do with it.” 

Ben turned back to the desk, his brow furrowed. “Well, if you think it would be more efficient…”

“Absolutely,” she chirped, claiming the seat behind the desk. 

She flipped quickly through the stacks of graded papers and when she found nothing untoward, she shoved them into the recycling bin. As quietly as she could, she pulled the desk drawers open, wincing as she discovered the empty bottle of contraband alcohol and empty cigarette boxes at the bottom of the filing cabinet, hidden beneath more papers. She moved them carefully and quietly into the trashcan, her eyes watching Ben closely. 

“Can you answer a question for me?” he asked, his back still to her. His voice made her jump. 

“Sure,” she acquiesced, using the sound of their conversation to continue to root through the desk. 

The papers were what she was looking for; notes, between herself and Benedict, plans for rendezvous, dinner dates, and eventually, accusatory notes that she hoped he had gotten rid of. 

“Why does Benedict Arnold’s name sound so familiar?” he asked. 

Peggy froze in the fact of pulling the pages out of the drawer. “I’m not sure,” she said quickly, folding them as tightly as she could, slipping them into the elastic of her bra. “Perhaps he published some pedagogical article that you read?” She had made a mistake in not bringing her purse with her. 

“Maybe,” Ben agreed quietly, moving to the other side of the room and his last poster. 

She ran a disinfecting wipe over the surface of the desk and sat back, satisfied, trying to relax the unpleasant thrill in her blood the sneaking had brought about. Instead of announcing her job finished, she watched Ben stretch to tack the rest of the posters to the wall, the reach making his shirt ride up and revealing a muscular and tan back and just the hint of the waistband of his boxers. 

He turned toward her, and Peggy struggled to appear busy, wiping the desk one more time, even though she had already thrown away the disinfecting wipe. “Perhaps we need music,” he said, pulling his phone out of his back pocket and pressing this thumb to the screen. 

“In nineteenth century Russia, we write letters, we write letters!” 

“I love this song!” Peggy exclaimed, drawing a full grin from Ben’s mouth. “I saw this show last winter.” 

“You saw Natasha, Pierre, and the Great Comet of 1812?” Ben gushed.

Peggy rose from her place at the desk and walked around to the other side, pulling herself up to sit gently on the edge. She slowly, deliberately crossed her legs at the knee, and smirked as Ben’s eyes dropped to her bare legs. 

“I got to see it with –” she stopped suddenly. How weird would it be if she told him who she had seen that show with? “my family…” she finished awkwardly. Ben didn’t seem to notice; he was too caught up in the music. 

“I see nothing but the candle in the mirror. No visions of the future. So lost and alone!” 

A knock at the door startled them both, and Peggy turned to see Washington leaning against the doorframe, watching them both with a soft grin on his face. 

“I came to see if Benjamin needed any help setting up his classroom, but I can see that he’s in good hands,” he pointed out, winking at Peggy, who blushed. 

Her blush, however, was nothing compared to Ben’s blush, that went from his neck to the roots of his hair. His grin was silly and permanent, his eyes fixed on the ground. Peggy tilted her head in amusement. My oh my, did Benjamin Tallmadge have a crush on George Washington? 

“We could always use another set of hands, sir,” Peggy invited, her eyes on Ben. Ben’s gaze lifted to hers, and something in her eyes must have alerted him to her intentions, to what she had read in his face, because his cheeks got, if possible, even more red. Her grin grew wider. 

Washington chuckled, the sound deep and low in his throat. “I think the two of you have it covered.” His eyes took in the flushed cheeks of Ben to Peggy’s devilish expression. Something in his face shifted; he was always too smart for his own good – but whether he had uncovered the reason Ben looked embarrassed or had uncovered what he thought was an interrupted flirtation, Peggy couldn’t decipher.

“Thank you, sir,” Ben called out as the man retreated back down the hallway. Peggy tried to suppress her smirk, but when Ben turned back in her direction, the weight of his gaze spurred her into speech. 

“Ben,” she began, “I have a question.” 

He turned sharply away from her, back to the posters that he had already hung. “Yes?” 

“How…how perceptive would you say you are?” she asked, sliding easily off the desk. That didn’t seem to be the question Ben had been anticipating, and that was enough to cement the smirk on her face. He turned toward her, his brows furrowed in thought. 

“Um, I…I would say pretty perceptive,” he shrugged. “Why?” 

She stepped closer to him, between the mismatched, scratched desks. She was so much shorter than him, without her heels, that she had to tilt her head up considerably the closer she got to him. 

“And how perceptive would you say I am?” she asked, her voice a low, sultry lilt. Ben’s gaze on her own intensified for a moment, but if he even realized, she could not be sure. He considered the question, dropping his eyes away from her to think. 

“If I had to guess –”

“Please do,” she murmured, their close proximity enough to make her drop the volume of her reply. 

“I’d say you are very perceptive,” he concluded. 

She stepped closer to him, their chests just barely brushing, and gently dropped her dainty hand onto his forearm. The muscle underneath her hand tensed for a moment. 

“Because,” she said, her voice light and teasing, “If you are as perceptive as you say you are, you would realize by now that I’m flirting with you, and quite masterfully so, if I do say so myself –” Ben flushed a light pink, “and yet you still manage to blush more thoroughly at the mere sight of George Washington than you do at my touch,” she let her fingers walk up the planes of his arm, her eyes following its progress. 

“I – I – well –”

“Fret not, Benjamin,” Peggy released his arm, stepping out of his personal space. “There is no judgment here. I just want to know if I’m wasting my time.” She softened her gaze. This was not a teasing matter; all flirtation was gone from her tone and her face.

“Wasting…your time?” 

She raised her eyebrows at him, clearly not wanting to dive deeper into a subject that might make him uncomfortable. After a few moments, realization danced over his face. Peggy’s confidence wavered as he digested the question, trying to formulate a response. The response she wanted wouldn’t take this long to put together, she thought with disappointment. Oh well. Can’t win them all, Shippen. 

“Oh,” Ben dropped his gaze to the floor once more, and Peggy’s hope had all but fizzled out at his silence. Even the music playing from his phone had ceased. “Well.” 

“You aren’t going to upset me if you tell me the truth,” she nudged, already resigning herself to retreat. 

“No, I’m sorry, I’m just – I don’t really talk about this,” he explained, and Peggy took a seat at the desk, ready to listen. He noticed the movement and continued. “My crush on Washington is just that – a crush. The man is straight and married. Consider it…consider it innocent.”

“And me?” she asked against her better judgment. His serious expression lightened into a smirk that rivaled Peggy’s own. 

“You said you were flirting with me quite masterfully,” he pointed out. “I see no reason why that has to end.” 

***

Caleb Brewster loved the grocery store; the fresh smell of the produce section always made him feel inspired and productive. He pushed the cart around the pepper stand happily, eyeballing the green peppers with a studious eye. 

“Caleb?” 

“Mary!” he exclaimed, waving goofily to Thomas, who giggled and waved back. “Long time!” 

The last time Caleb remembered seeing Mary was almost a year ago, though how that much time had passed was beyond his knowledge. Thomas had grown considerably, his blond hair long and curling at the ends. Mary herself had somehow managed to get even prettier as she aged, her yoga pants and green t-shirt simple and sophisticated. 

“You know how it gets,” she replied vaguely, dropping her gaze to Thomas, smoothing his hair down.

“Well, I know that I get stuck sweating into people’s food every day, and you are probably having fun playing with this little man every day,” he poked Thomas gently in the side, smiling warmly when the baby giggled again. “And how lucky you would be.” 

“I am pretty lucky,” Mary agreed. 

Caleb lifted his eyes to her. “I was talking to Thomas,” he pointed out. Mary’s eyes widened for a moment in surprise at his almost accidental compliment, and as the surprise subsided, amusement took over. She laughed, the sound foreign to his ears. Had Mary Woodhull ever laughed in his presence before? The sound was wondrous. 

“You seem to have gotten more charming since I last saw you, Brewster,” she pointed out as her laughs gradually diminished. Caleb gave her a messy salute that made her grin even wider. 

“I’m like a fine wine,” he added. “I may just be rotten grapes, but I somehow manage to taste better as time goes on.” 

“I’ll take your word for that one,” Mary replied, a teasing smile taking over her pretty face. 

Caleb’s phone beeped, a reminder that he had work in just over an hour. He turned off the alarm. “I have to go to work soon, but why don’t I come over and make you, Abe, and Thomas dinner one night?” he asked. “I’m sure you need a break from cooking.” 

The sound of her husband’s name tightened her face, and Caleb hastened to add, “We don’t have to.” 

“No, no, that sounds like a great idea,” Mary quickly waved him off. “How about Friday?” 

Caleb beamed. “Awesome. Um, just…” suddenly, he felt inexplicably nervous. “Let me know what Thomas likes or if he has any food allergies.” 

“I will,” Mary seemed to just now register that they were getting along, that they were making plans to spend time together. She looked just as surprised as he felt. “It was…it was really nice to see you, Brewster.” 

They both seemed equally taken aback by the sincerity in that sentiment. Caleb found his smile refused to fade as they both continued their shopping, waving one more time to Thomas, who tried to turn all the way around as his mother led him away. 

***

Billy could hear the quiet clinks coming from Abigail’s nurse’s station before he even reached the door. He knew she would be there – she always was on the day before the school year started. She was obsessed – she called it prepared – with making sure all of her supplies were in the right spot, waiting to be used. She was good at her job because she was efficient, she argued, not because she was lazy. 

He knocked on the doorframe, and tried to suppress a smile as she jumped. 

“I thought I’d check in and see if you needed any help,” he said after a few moments, realizing that he hadn’t come here with a ready-made excuse. 

“Oh,” she didn’t look happy to see him. That alone made Billy balk a little. Abigail always looked happy to see him. She glanced around the room. “Uh, I don’t – I don’t think I need help. Thanks, though.” 

Billy’s eyes followed Abigail’s trajectory. The room was a mess, a mess, he knew, that she made just so she knew she put everything away herself. It was far from finished, and the afternoon was waning. 

“Are you sure?” he asked. 

“Uh huh,” she didn’t even look at him this time. 

He ignored the urge to step into the room, to find out what had changed. Closing her into a room would only make her nervous. “Well,” he stalled. “Would you – do you want to get coffee tomorrow morning?” he asked. “Before the doors open and all hell breaks loose?” 

Abigail’s eyes momentarily held that hope that he was so used to seeing, but it was banished in an instant, like someone had thrown sand on a fire. 

“I can’t,” she said, turning back to her work. “I’m sorry.” 

She offered no more of an explanation. Billy waited, hoping she’d say something else. Sorry, I have plans, or, Sorry, Cicero gets nervous on the first day of school, or something. But she offered him nothing else. 

Abigail watched him leave, feeling her heart grow heavier the farther he went. When she was sure he was gone, she pulled her phone from her pocket. On the screen was a text from Akinbode.

“Back in town. Can’t wait to see you.”


	4. Call Backs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mary and Abraham reach a breaking point; Peggy looks for an excuse to rationalize her feelings for Ben; Edmund is bad at talking to women; and Sarah and Philomena take steps in their relationship.

Thursday night was no different than any other one, Mary mused, and yet, it had held the anticipation of a special one. Her conversation with Caleb in the grocery store stuck with her for the rest of the day and the few following, and even when Abraham, uncharacteristically quiet but somehow still characteristically taciturn, had agreed to the dinner, Mary couldn’t shake the feeling that this was more than a dinner – more important, somehow. 

She was standing over the stove, absently stirring the little pot of macaroni and cheese that Thomas had requested from her today, eyeballing it with a tired eye. She might join her son in the macaroni venture, she thought. 

As she got increasingly wrapped up in her thoughts, Abraham’s car pulled into the driveway; Mary was accustomed to the sound of the engine, of the tires crunching against the loose asphalt by now. Her eyes rose to the clock. 6:38 p.m. She wondered where he had been. 

She didn’t have the energy to ask. 

He closed the door gently behind him, easing his way into the kitchen like he was afraid of getting into trouble. Mary rolled her eyes where he couldn’t see her. He had managed to sneak almost to the hallway before Thomas gave him away.

“Papa!” he said gleefully, clapping his hands together. 

“Hey there, Sprout!” Abraham cooed, trying to hide the abject discomfort in his voice. Mary didn’t even bother turning around. 

“Nice of you to come home,” she pointed out. “Twenty-four more hours and I was going to file a missing person’s report.” 

“I wasn’t gone that long,” Abraham answered brusquely, and Mary could hear him pulling Thomas into his arms. What a low move, she thought darkly. There would be no arguing with the child in his arms. She stirred the macaroni once more, deciding it was finished, and moved the pot off the burner. “A day, at the most.” 

“A whole day, Abraham, with no word as to where you were,” she pointed out, struggling to keep her voice calm. At this point, she didn’t truly care where he was – she knew where he was – she just preferred that she knew he was alive. 

That way the guilt would stop gnawing at her. 

“I was with Robert,” Abraham replied defensively, placing his son back into his high chair when Mary dropped her eyes to it, a plastic bowl of macaroni in her hands. She took the seat beside her son and put the little green plastic spoon in it, observing as he brought the noodles to his mouth and pensively chewed, watching his parents argue. 

“Sure you were,” she mumbled, her careful eyes on her son. 

Abraham choked over his retort. “Oh, you don’t believe me?” he asked sarcastically. 

She shrugged. “I didn’t say that.” 

“Oh, of course not,” he snapped. “You didn’t have to.” 

This time, Mary rolled her eyes in clear view of Abraham. “It doesn’t matter where you were,” she acknowledged. “All that matters is that I know you’re safe.” 

“You think I was with Anna,” Abraham decided. 

“I just said –”

“No, no, you want the truth?” Abraham sounded suspiciously like he was scolding her now, and Mary felt her hackles rise. He had no right. “Here, look.” He pulled out his phone and scrolled through his incoming calls. “All of these, for days, from Anna. And I haven’t responded.” 

Mary surveyed them critically, still calm, but her mind was reeling. If he wasn’t with Anna, then who was he with? He certainly wasn’t with her. Unless his story about Robert was true. She knew, even in the part of her that still blamed Anna for the slow dissolution of her marriage, that Robert and Abraham had a connection that she couldn’t hope to compete with. 

But, no, Abraham was not gay, or bisexual. He would scoff at the idea. 

“I already told you that it doesn’t matter,” she answered.

After years of accusing Abraham of infidelity, she reflected, he seemed hard-pressed to accept the change in their dynamic. “Why?” he asked stubbornly. “Suddenly, after all this, it doesn’t matter? Why?” 

She shrugged again. 

“So who was he?” 

Her gut clenched, and she knew, without asking, what he was talking about. She finally turned her eyes away from her son, cheese smeared over his mouth, and looked up at her husband.   
“Who was whom?” she asked innocently, already bracing herself for what the truth would bring. 

“Whoever it was you slept with on Sunday,” Abraham’s voice held an accusatory tone that she recognized as her own. “I know you didn’t stay with a friend when you got drunk. My friends are your friends. They would have told me.” 

The way he said it, the implication that she had no friends of her own, much less someone who would even take care of her when she was drunk, was enough to push Mary to a standing position. She devoted her life to her marriage, to her husband and her son, and her husband decided to find love and his life elsewhere and he had the nerve to use her devotion as evidence against her fidelity? 

She closed her eyes against the wave of anger that threatened to overtake her and exhaled through her nose. The irony drew a smile. 

“You don’t know him,” she replied finally. 

Abraham looked stricken. Oh, good, she thought viciously. He didn’t think she’d have the guts to own up to what she’d done? 

“And the way I see it,” she continued when he didn’t speak, “You have no right – no right,” she interrupted his strangled scoff, “to judge what I’ve done.” 

“And it seems you have no right to judge what I’ve done either,” he answered, but his jaw was clenched so tight she had to wonder how his teeth didn’t snap. 

She chuckled again, a mirthless laugh that never ceased to unsettle him. “Of course I can,” she said firmly. “You spent years being unfaithful, while your wife begged for your love, for your devotion. I do it once, with someone I don’t even know, with no feelings attached, and suddenly, my sin is as severe as yours? I don’t think so.” 

She shoved past him to their bedroom – her bedroom, she corrected herself, and grabbed her cardigan and her purse. Abraham was standing in the same spot she’d left him when she returned, shoving her arms into the cranberry jacket. 

“Where are you going?” he demanded, trying to block her exit. She stepped easily around him toward the back door. 

“None of your fucking business,” she answered, slamming the door behind her. 

***  
“I didn’t think you’d call,” John murmured into the skin of her throat as his hands shoved her cardigan down her shoulders. Mary tilted her head to give him more of her neck and exhaled a shaky laugh. 

“I didn’t think I would either,” she admitted, allowing him to push her toward the bed until her calves hit the mattress. She fell back, landing gracefully against the pillows. John watched her fall, a soft smile on his face that morphed into something different when her hands went to the hem of her shirt to lift it up and over her head. 

She let him climb on top of her, his much larger body warming her own. 

When she closed her eyes, she could forget that he wasn’t her husband – that her husband had never kissed her like this, never touched her like this. 

With a disparaging scoff that caught John off-guard, she wrenched her eyes open and let her gaze fall on his face. He wasn’t her husband, she thought, the notion thrilling her instead of nauseating her. 

She could get used to it. She would have to get used to it. 

***

Dusk had fallen easily and before Peggy’s eyes; the sky was painted a dusty orange that somehow faded into a light purple. Still, her mind wandered aimlessly between different points that she couldn’t seem to string together. Arnold, Washington, Ben, John. 

“So how is your new recruit?” John asked, hanging his shirt pensively on the wooden hanger Peggy insisted he use. “Benjamin, is it?” 

It had been a day or two before she even spoke to him after their fight, but she couldn’t tell him that it was her guilt that kept her at bay, not their argument. She sighed, grabbing the pillows that decorated their bed, and gently placed them on the trunk at the foot of the king-sized mattress. 

“He’s fine,” she answered shortly. 

“Well, it was the first day of school today,” he pointed out. 

“Are you sure you want to talk about this?” Peggy asked, grabbing the comforter and pulling it free of the folds of the mattress. “A few days ago –”

“I was an idiot,” John interrupted her, sweeping up to her side and kissing the side of her head. “As usual.” 

“As usual,” she agreed lightly, tilting her chin upward to peck his cheek. “Now go shower. You have an early morning.” 

He obliged her, leaving her to slide between their sheets alone, a folder of ungraded papers in her hand. She lost herself in the numbers for a few moments, enjoying the simple feel of basic algebra, especially with her advanced students, who already understood the fundamentals. She moved quickly through them, her mind focused on the numbers and not the probing sweet blue of Benjamin Tallmadge’s eyes, or the sight of Arnold’s letter left behind in his desk. 

That is, until John’s phone pinged. 

That, in itself, was not unusual. He was always getting text messages, always getting phone calls late into the night. He shrugged them off as business. This time, however, the phone pinged again, the sound high pitched and annoying. 

Peggy groaned, leaning over her pile of papers to John’s phone, easily typing in the code. 

The number was one she didn’t recognize, but the pictures…she recognized the girl in them immediately. Philomena Cheer. 

“Spent the last few days downtown at a girl’s apartment,” the text read. “Lease reads Sarah Livingston.” 

Quickly, Peggy scrolled up through the previous conversations. The pictures of Philomena were not the first ones; it looked like whoever was messaging John was keeping an eye on her, though to make sure she could be found or that she was staying away from him was up for interpretation. 

The first message in the thread was from months ago, right before Peggy and John had gotten back together. 

“Make sure she stays away from Peggy,” John’s text read. “That will bring me more trouble than it’s worth.” 

She dropped the phone gently onto the bed, the home screen popping up, revealing a sweet picture of John kissing her cheek. The thought made her nauseous now. Had he paid someone to keep Philomena away from Peggy? And if he did, why would it matter so much? People had exes; they ran into them, it wasn’t a big deal. 

Unless she wasn’t an ex. 

She heard the water in the bathroom shut off and moved with quiet purpose; she could feel the beginnings of tears stinging her eyes but she pushed them back. She had no time for them right now. 

Her father had warned her this would happen. John Andre was a womanizer, he’d told her, and not even Margaret Shippen would change that. It seemed that he was right. She grabbed her coat, her purse, and her keys, and quietly shut the door behind her. The light to the living room had just switched on when she pulled out of the driveway, the tears on her cheeks just starting to run. 

George was the one that answered the door, much to Peggy’s embarrassment. He took one glance at her tear-stained cheeks and ushered her inside, toward the living room, where Martha was leaning against the couch cushions, petting her puppy. At the sight of Peggy, Venus vaulted off of her mother’s lap and bounded toward her, tongue wagging happily. 

“Oh, Peggy, dear, what’s wrong?” Martha asked, patting the couch beside her. “George, could you get us some tea?” 

George immediately turned on his heel and moved toward the kitchen. Peggy watched him go with a smile on her face. 

“Tell me what happened,” Martha prodded gently, reaching onto Peggy’s lap to pet Venus as the dog settled on top of her. Just the warmth of the little brown dog was enough to sap some of the sadness from her. 

She embarked on the story, beginning with meeting Benjamin Tallmadge, and John’s accusations, and finishing with the text messages and the pictures of his ex-girlfriend, who was probably still his secret girlfriend on his phone. 

“Benjamin Tallmadge,” Martha said thoughtfully. “I believe I’ve met the boy before. Quite enamored with George, if I remember correctly.” 

That drew a laugh from Peggy. “Oh, you have no idea.” 

The rattling of tea cups immediately shushed them both, and Peggy and Martha both watched closely as George set the tea pot, cups, and cream and sugar in front of them before exiting, throwing back a suspicious look at their silence. 

Martha chuckled in the wake of his exit. “Now, spill.” 

With her family in Philadelphia, Peggy found that she had a surrogate friend and mother in Martha Washington, the friendly, shrewd woman who always offered good, impartial advice. Now, she raised one carefully sculpted eyebrow at the younger woman as Peggy outlined the revelation of Ben’s crush on George. 

“Oh dear,” she said with a smirk. “It seems like the boy you have an eye on has an eye on my husband.” 

“I don’t have an eye –”

Martha waved her off. “You do, my darling, but that’s okay. But you might want to figure out if you’ve completely recovered from Arnold before you go jumping into that pond.” 

Peggy stiffened. “I don’t know what you mean.” 

Martha sighed lightly, dropping a few sugar cubes into her tea and passing a cup to Peggy. “I know that you don’t like to get into it,” she began gently. “But there is a reason you reacted so strongly to a couple of pictures that John might have just been able to explain away.” 

“I will not be with a man that keeps secrets from me anymore,” Peggy snapped. “Not after…” she exhaled a shaky breath. “Not after what Arnold did.” 

“Arnold was a con artist,” Martha agreed, a cold edge sneaking into her voice. “But I’m not sure that John is.” 

“He’s having that girl followed,” Peggy insisted. 

“And you were already looking for an excuse to leave,” Martha pointed out. “I’m not condemning you for feeling an attraction to another man. But be honest about why you’re leaving one.” 

***

Philomena was outside her apartment when Sarah pulled up, her paint-smeared face bright and make-up free. “I thought we were ordering in,” she remarked as she parked her car. “Did you want to go pick up a pizza or something instead?” 

Philomena didn’t answer, but continued pacing in front of her building, a path that Sarah noticed must not be a new one. Her eyes were staring at something far away, her mouth moving but not speaking. She carefully opened the door to her car and stepped onto the hot pavement, quietly closing the door behind her. “Mena?” she asked tentatively, catching the taller girl by the arm. She jumped violently at the contact. “Are you alright?”

“I got called back,” she answered, as though her vague statement should mean something. Sarah furrowed her brows, feeling the paint on her forehead flake off. 

“That’s great, honey,” Sarah pointed out. “Sometimes when you call people, they call you back. Come on, let’s go upstairs, get you some water.” 

“No, Sarah, I got a call back,” Philomena repeated, and finally, slowly, with the ease of forcing a puzzle piece somewhere it probably wasn’t supposed to go, Sarah understood. 

“Oh, the audition!” she exclaimed. “That’s…that’s good, right? A call back?” 

“It’s amazing,” Philomena insisted. “It’s…this is the biggest show I’ve ever auditioned for.” 

“Then why do you look like you’re going to puke all over the pavement?” Sarah asked, her hand on Philomena’s arm retreating to her back to rub soothing circles on it. “This is good news!” 

Philomena heaved a deep breath, and Sarah thought, for a single, horrifying moment, that she really was about to throw up on the sidewalk, and ran her hands through her hair. “They want to see me again. In an hour.” 

Sarah laughed. “That’s great! Do you want a ride? I can take you, and we’ll go out for celebratory food afterward. I know how you get if you don’t eat.” 

Philomena paused in her manic pacing. “You’d – you’d take me?” she asked. 

“’Course,” Sarah shrugged. “Do you have lines to practice? If you drive, I can read the script for you so you’re fresh.” 

Suddenly, Philomena’s arms were around Sarah’s neck, and she was squeezing tightly. Her perfume, or the smell of her hair product, assaulted her with a scent of flowers and vanilla. Sarah imagined the acrid smell of paint thinner was a poor complement. 

“As much as I love hugs,” Sarah began cautiously, “what did I do to earn one?”

Philomena loosened her grip around Sarah’s neck, but didn’t release her completely. “I…I don’t know. No one’s ever…”

“What?” 

“No one’s ever been…supportive, I guess? Of my acting,” Philomena’s eyes dropped to the ground and she finally released Sarah, taking a few safe steps away from her. Quickly, and before she could lose her nerve, Sarah caught her fingers and held them gently between her own. 

“Come on,” she said bracingly. “Into the car, you basket case. Let’s run those lines.” 

She was gifted with a smile that lifted her higher than any hug ever could. 

***

Early morning brought rain. Even though he had vowed never to return to the fateful coffee shop so he could adequately avoid caffeine (at least, that’s what he told himself), Edmund was forced into the small, warm shop to avoid the torrential downpour that had already soaked the bottoms of his pants despite his huge umbrella. 

The line was short, thank goodness, but that only made it impossible to hide from the strikingly familiar girl with the deep eyes that had spotted him the second he walked into the shop. 

“Edmund, right?” she asked, and the sound of his name on her lips immediately drew a smile from him. “You didn’t call.” 

He shuffled his feet, a nervous tic that her eyes caught easily. “I – uh, well, I’m not exactly…good at that.” 

“At what?” she asked, a laugh lilting her voice and the very slight accent that made her voice distinct. “Calling?” 

For lack of a better term, Edmund mused, nodding without speaking. The woman in front of him stepped out of line and Anna swiftly nudged Edmund out of the way and turned toward the barista. “Caramel, right?” she asked over her shoulder, the sliver of her face that was visible lit up with mischief. 

“Ah, Anna, I must – I must insist –”

“Caramel macchiato, please,” Anna addressed the barista confidently, who was watching their exchange with a grin on her face. “And add a shot of toffee in there too.” She turned back to him. “You’ll like it,” she added. “Promise.” 

“I must insist that you let me pay for it,” Edmund protested as she reached into her back pocket for her wallet, originally marketed for a man. 

She used her hip to bump his hand out of the way and passed the barista her debit card. “Absolutely not. But I will tell you how you can repay me.” 

“Oh?” he asked, retreating toward the other window where his coffee would be presented to him. “How?” 

“Well, since I bought you coffee and introduced you to the lovely aroma that is toffee, and since you didn’t call,” Edmund flushed, “I think it’s only fair that you take me to dinner.” 

“Mrs. Strong –”

“Anna,” she interrupted. “And I won’t take no for an answer. If you’re bad at calling, then I guess I’ll just have to do it. I’ll message you the details.” 

She was gone, disappearing into the pouring rain before Edmund could stop her, before he could warn her that he was so incredibly terrible at first dates, before he could formulate a way to tell her that she would probably regret ever speaking to him, because damn it, who didn’t these days? So he did what he usually did: he stood there, impassive, as the world moved unapologetically around him. He watched her go, her umbrella the only bit of color that he could spot from a distance, and wondered how someone as bright and monumental as the sun could have possibly decided to waste her time on him.


	5. Whispered Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caleb makes dinner for Mary and Abraham, Robert and Abe finally have their "talk," and Andre finds a form of comfort.

Caleb spent five minutes standing outside the Woodhull home, his arms laden with groceries, before he managed to knock on the door. It wasn’t that his burden was that unmanageable, per se, but he was…lost. What had possessed him to suggest this in the first place? Why had he felt the need to come here, to become friendly with Mary Woodhull? 

It felt, now that he had safe distance from her sweet, lonely eyes, that he had made a purely self-destructive decision, one that would blow up in his face when Mary nagged him about vegetables or Abraham pointed out that Mary and Caleb were never friends anyway. 

And yet, despite his foreboding, Caleb’s fist rose of its own accord and knocked twice on the door. 

The few moments of limbo before Mary opened the door housed a quick flurry of ridiculous notions. He could run; he could leave the food on the doorstep and run and hide out in his apartment for the foreseeable future. He would have to shop at a new supermarket, just in case, though. And he liked the produce selection at that supermarket…

Well, if only for the future of his shopping endeavors, he would have to endure. 

That is, until Mary opened the door, her eyes tired and raw but her smile genuine. Her eyes were brighter than usual, bordering between green and blue. Somehow this dinner was suddenly less of a chore. 

“Caleb!” she exclaimed, like she was surprised to see him. Immediately, Caleb felt out of place. Was he not supposed to be here? Did he get the date wrong? But she moved aside, beckoning him into her home, and smiled at his paper bags of groceries. “I made the mistake of telling Thomas that you would be here today, and he hasn’t stopped asking for you.” 

“Unca Caleb?” 

“See?” she asked, exasperation wrinkling into amusement around her eyes. “Sorry I look like this,” she added as she caught him staring, “I just –”

“You’re perfect,” he waved off her self-conscious excuses and moved past her into the kitchen, thankful that he had his back to her as he registered what he said. You’re perfect? What was wrong with him? “I mean, I saw you right after you gave birth to Thomas, so I mean, compared to that? Runway ready!” 

His tone was forced, the humor not quite coming together, and Mary’s furrowed brows told him she knew that too. 

“You’re such an ass, Brewster,” she pointed out affectionately, reaching for one of his bags. “So…what have we got here?” 

He self-consciously peered into the bags with her. “I have all the makings for spinach puffs and some shrimp pasta with zucchini, and a peanut butter and chocolate cheesecake for dessert,” he paused and glanced up at her for approval. “I remembered that you complained that Abraham and Thomas never ate enough vegetables,” he supplied helpfully. “So I figured I sneak some in.” 

Her smile was almost devious at the idea of deceiving her son into eating greens. He felt his facial muscles respond almost immediately and smiled back at her. She scooped one of the bags out of his arms and turned toward the counter, her skirt fluttering a bit at her quarter turn. 

“It sounds delicious,” she confided, taking some of the ingredients out of the bags. “How can I help?” 

“You can take a seat beside your son and open up that wine,” Caleb instructed. “I’ll take it from here,” suddenly, and with the panic that told him he should have asked this question a long time ago, he added, “Where’s Abe?” 

Mary’s face shifted quickly into something unattainable and faraway. “I…uh – I don’t know,” she admitted. “He should be here soon.” 

There was something beyond that, but Caleb didn’t push it; he carefully organized his ingredients in order of necessity, making sure to push them closer to the wall of the counter, giving himself plenty of free space. Mary watched him, some of the lingering smile coming back to her lips as he carefully unfolded the puff pastry dough that would make up the frame of the spinach puffs he was going to make. 

An hour later, just as Mary was about to start on her second glass of wine and Caleb had set the table for three (including Thomas), the back door creaked open to reveal Abraham, his hair greasy and unkempt, his trademark beanie covering only one ear. 

“Oh, Woody, hey!” Caleb greeted happily, waving a plate as he set it down in front of Mary. 

“What are you doing here?” Abraham’s voice was raspy, thick with something that Mary couldn’t place. Immediately, Mary jumped up from her seat and intercepted him before Caleb could respond. 

“I told you that Caleb was going to make dinner, remember?” she pointed out, her voice hushed. 

“Yeah, on Friday.” 

“It is Friday, Woody,” Caleb noted, his apron tied around his waist and an oven mitt on his other hand. “Are you alright?” 

“I’m fine,” he snapped, stalking past Mary and Caleb to the bedroom. “I’d be more fine if people would stop asking me questions.” 

“Okay, okay, relax,” Caleb turned back to the oven, checking the egg timer set at the top of the oven, and went about his work, his eyes only occasionally straying back to Mary as she addressed her husband. 

“What is wrong with you?” she asked, her voice a whisper as Abraham moved past her toward the bedroom. “I reminded you about this yesterday.” 

“Yes, well, I’ve been busy,” Abraham’s tone was clipped, and even as he spoke, Mary noticed that he hadn’t taken his shoes off; he was going straight to his drawers beside the bed. 

“Where are you going?” she asked tentatively, hoping Abraham would correct her, tell her that he wasn’t going anywhere after all.

“Out.” 

“Abraham!” Mary’s voice rose momentarily to a shout, and a searing look from Abraham quieted her. “Your friend is here to spend time with you, and you’re acting like you don’t even know him. This is more than just one of our fights.” 

Abraham shrugged, grabbing a shirt from the bottom of the drawer. “Enjoy your dinner, Mary,” he answered, swiftly moving past her to the door, closing it after him, leaving her alone in the bedroom. She stayed there for a moment, humiliation washing over her in waves. What would she tell Caleb now? That her husband couldn’t even stand to spend an hour in her presence? That he hated her because she finally did what he’d been doing for years? 

A tear slid down her cheek, solitary and unwarranted. Mary wiped it away easily, quickly checking her reflection in the mirror. Caleb wasn’t a judgmental mother at Mommy and Me classes; he was a friend. She could talk to him. 

But still, she thought as she finally opened the door and caught his worried gaze; he was Abraham’s friend. Not hers. 

She didn’t have any. 

***

Robert knew exactly who it was when the knock came at his door. He knew his knock; he had grooves in his front door where his knuckles fit and played out a particular rhythm whenever he came over. But this time – this time he didn’t rise immediately to answer it. He lingered, somewhere between the front door and his couch, wondering if he should answer the door. 

He had been gone for days; long enough that Robert had started to wonder if he was ever going to come back. His calls had gone unanswered, his texts unread. And yet, here he was, playing out that rhythm again on his door, and Robert knew that only a tornado was waiting for him on the other side. 

How would they address what they had done? The kiss – it still sent shivers through Robert when he thought about it now – surely Abraham had other ideas of what that meant, of how important it was. It didn’t matter that he had initiated it. It didn’t matter now; the blame, and it would be blame that Abraham was throwing, would land squarely on Robert, as it always did. 

And he didn’t much have the energy for that right now. 

The knock came again, and it was followed almost immediately by Abraham’s voice. “I know you’re in there.” 

He sounded tortured, almost sick. Where had he been that he hadn’t recovered? Surely he hadn’t been at home, with his wife, who would have lectured him about drinking and made him soup to soothe his throat. He had met Mary only a few times, but by all accounts she was everything a man should want in a wife: beautiful, caring, independent, fiercely protective. 

His hand closed around the doorknob as another wave of guilt washed over him. What they had done – their kiss – was as much a betrayal to Mary as Abraham’s consistent infidelity with Anna Strong. 

Abraham was leaning against the wall beside the door, his head tilted back, eyes closed. He looked exhausted, wracked with something that, if Robert didn’t know him better, he would identify as guilt. But Abraham never expressed any guilt to him – truthfully, he wasn’t sure if he felt any anymore. 

“I haven’t heard from you for days,” Robert said as a greeting, the sound of his voice pulling Abraham from his reverie. 

His eyes weren’t full of malice, but neither were they friendly. “I was…dealing with some stuff.” 

Robert flinched as Abraham moved past him. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what that stuff had been. “And…did you?” 

“Did I what?” Abraham collapsed on his couch, pulling one of his green cushions onto his chest and hugging it. 

“Deal with it?” Robert asked, his voice tentative and cautious. He was sure that he didn’t want to know the answer, but the no-nonsense man his father raised was taught to always ask the difficult questions so the answers could be dealt with. There would be no moving forward if they were both too afraid to talk about it. 

Abraham sighed, and Robert pursed his lips. There was a difficult truth there, held between his teeth, but if he knew Abraham – and he did – it would be hell trying to make him set it free. 

“Mary’s sleeping with someone else,” Abraham breathed quietly. Robert furrowed his brow. “She admitted it to me.” 

Realizing that he was treading on dangerous ground, Robert proceeded cautiously. “And that…upsets you?” 

Abraham’s eyes snapped to his. “Of course it upsets me. Why wouldn’t it?” 

This time, it was Robert struggling to keep the truth behind his teeth. The longer the silence stretched, the more he became aware that Abraham was waiting for some affirming comment. He cleared his throat. “Of course.” 

But it was far too late for that, and Robert knew it. Abraham’s eyes narrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

Robert sighed. “I just – haven’t you been having an affair with Anna Strong for the better part of a year now?” 

Abraham’s face tightened. “And?” he sneered. “I haven’t spoken to Anna in weeks.” 

“And what about –”

Abraham grimaced sharply, and Robert fell quiet. It suddenly became clear to him: their kiss was supposed to slip by, unnoticed, and never mentioned again. Robert could appreciate the commitment to denial, but knowing that it would never be acknowledged ached, deep in his chest, and prompted him to respond. 

“Of course. So we’re never going to talk about it,” he said, deadpan. Abraham’s gaze dropped to the couch, but it was out of what looked like shame, not chagrin. 

“Talk about what?” 

“Oh don’t even –” Robert interrupted. “I know you remember.” 

“We are not discussing this now –” finally, Abraham rose from the couch. 

“Then why are you here?” 

His face was shocked, as if he couldn’t imagine why Robert was asking that question. “Because you’re my friend, and I wanted to vent to you about my bad day –”

“Oh, you had a bad day?” Robert exclaimed sarcastically. “How about being on edge every second of the day because your best friend kissed you and you have no idea how to handle it? And then said best friend decides that it never happened.” 

“How is that such an outrage to you?” 

“It’s not just your decision!” Robert’s tone lost all anger, and he felt his body thrumming with angry energy. He would not explode at him. If there was anything Robert prided himself on, it was his self-control. “You can’t make me forget. And I know you haven’t forgotten.” 

“I can’t – I can’t do this right now –”

“Why not?” Robert asked, knowing there was an answer to this question he didn’t want to hear. But he needed to hear it – he needed to know what Abraham thought, even if the truth would break his heart. 

Abraham’s eyes flickered between Robert and the floor. Finally, he broke the silence with a sigh that held the words “I’m not like you –”

“Not like me?” Robert asked, appalled. “What is that supposed to mean?” 

“I’m – I’m married to a woman –”

“You are. But that didn’t stop you from sleeping with Anna Strong,” Robert pointed out. Abraham’s hand clenched into a fist; Robert noted it and pushed once more. “Yet somehow you kissing me is a larger transgression? One you can’t even talk about?” 

“Robert –”

“No, you’re ashamed that you kissed a man. That’s what your problem is. And you know what? If you think that wanting to kiss a man is worse than actively cheating on your wife, then at least I know exactly what you think about me. And trust me, I won’t be making the mistake of ever kissing you again. Get out.”

There was some satisfaction that Robert saw Abraham’s face crumble at his final two words. But it was a bitter satisfaction, one that felt even worse once Abraham moved toward the door without bothering to fight him about it. Robert had thought – no, hoped – that Abraham would fight him, would yell back. Because at least they knew who the other was in that place. They could move forward from there. 

Abraham didn’t even bother to slam the door. 

***

Caleb tried not to listen to the soft groan that left Mary’s throat when she took her first bite of the spinach puff. She had been quiet, almost painfully so, since Abraham had stormed past him and back out the door. Caleb could see the single tear tract down her cheek and had resolved to make her laugh even if it meant burning his dinner. But his jokes weren’t landing. He had to admit, as he was placing the food in front of her, that his dinner idea was a failure. 

That is, until she started eating it. 

She caught Caleb’s eyes and grinned, her mouth still full of food. He felt a smirk quirk his lips and watched as she chewed and swallowed. “This is so delicious, Brewster,” she said, taking a sip of her wine. “Who knew you could actually cook?” 

Caleb lifted a single eyebrow. “The restaurant that hired me?” 

That pulled a laugh from her. “I’m sure you can cook like, restaurant food –”

“Whaler’s Port is Michelin recommended –!”

“Restaurants in small towns can get Michelin recommended?” Mary teased, taking another bite of her spinach puff and sinking her fork into her shrimp. “I thought all we had was Yelp.” 

Caleb’s smirk settled permanently on his lips. “We’re recommended on Yelp too, you know.” 

“Well now I’ll have to go,” Mary noted, her smirk matching Caleb’s. He admired it for a moment before a dizzying thought occurred to him. Was Mary flirting with him? He took a bite of his own food, watching carefully as she mirrored his movement. They sat that way for a few moments, chewing silently while Thomas watched them both. 

“Do you think Abraham is coming back?” Caleb asked. “Should we pack some up for him?” 

“Can we – can we not talk about him?” Mary’s smirk slid quickly from her face, and it was replaced with the same quiet sadness Caleb had seen there before.

“Look, I don’t mean to pry,” he began, and Mary’s eyes dropped to her plate, “and I’m certain I don’t want to make you sad or – or upset,” he fumbled for a moment as Mary lifted her gaze to him again. “But…things seem worse,” as soon as the word left his mouth, he realized what he was saying. Mary grimaced and Caleb committed himself to the rest of the sentence, “worse than usual with him.”

Mary chuckled mirthlessly, her eyes boring into her wine glass. “That would be an understatement, wouldn’t it?” she asked. 

Caleb grabbed his napkin and gently wiped some spinach puff off of Thomas’s cheek. “I don’t pretend to know –”

“But you knew he was sleeping with Anna,” Mary interrupted. “Didn’t you?” 

Caleb flinched. “I – well –”

“It’s fine,” Mary waved him off. “Everyone knew, I guess.” 

Suddenly, inexplicably, Caleb felt the need to defend himself. “We tried to tell them that it was…wrong, but –”

“I don’t need an explanation,” Mary said easily. “I accepted who Abraham was a long time ago. I always thought I’d love him anyway. But…but I don’t think I do anymore.” 

“Oh?” Caleb wasn’t sure what else there was to say. Abraham had been his friend since childhood, but he had done the worst of wrongs to Mary. 

“I thought I was getting even, like some sort of ridiculous payback,” Mary was saying, and Caleb turned back to her just fast enough to see her wipe a tear away. “And I hadn’t – I hadn’t realized how much I missed being held, how much I missed being kissed like I was wanted –”

“Wait –”

She was crying in earnest now, not bothering to wipe the tears away. “How is it that I feel so guilty when he can do this every day for a year and not feel a single damn thing?” 

“He does feel guilty,” Caleb replied honestly. “I just don’t think he realizes it anymore. That doesn’t make it okay,” he added quickly as Mary looked up and her red rimmed eyes pierced right into his own, “but I think the two of you handle it differently.” 

Mary sniffled and wiped her eyes again. “Why are we doing this if we don’t –”

“I don’t think I’m the person to answer that,” Caleb said truthfully. “But if you have cooking questions, I’m your man.” 

It was a weak joke, if it could even be called that, but Mary still smiled at him, so he counted it as a success. “You know, Brewster, I never imagined that you’d be this –”

“Handsome?” he finished with a grin. Mary shook her head. “Rugged?” she laughed but shook her head again. “Enticingly intelligent?” 

“Kind,” she corrected him. 

“I take great offense,” Caleb protested. “I have always been kind.” 

“Sure you have,” Mary acquiesced, taking another sip of her wine, and Caleb was pleased to see that the sparkle was back in her eye. 

***

“Can I buy you a drink?” 

Robert didn’t bother to look up from his perfect view of the wood of the bar. “I don’t drink,” he replied dryly. “But thank you.” 

The man’s voice was silky smooth, like velvet. “Could have fooled me.” 

Robert tilted his glass in the voice’s direction. “Soda.” 

He felt the man’s presence brush by his arm as he took the seat beside him. A wave of cologne, tasteful and light, washed over him. Against his better judgement, he glanced up at the newcomer. His hair was shaggy, but not unkempt, and a golden blond. His eyes were blue and smiley, but he detected sadness in the creases around them. 

“Dealing with a break up?” the man asked. He raised his glass; Robert mirrored him. “Me too.” 

Robert took a sip of his Pepsi and set the glass down. “He wasn’t – it wasn’t a break up.” 

“Could’ve fooled me,” the man raised a shoulder, a nonchalant shrug that was as charming as it was infuriating. “John Andre.” 

“Robert Townsend.” 

“What do you do for a living, Robert Townsend?” Andre asked, sipping his drink pensively, his knees turned toward him. 

“I’m a hotel manager,” he answered cautiously. “Why do you want to know?” 

Andre’s eyes slid over to him. “Because when I sit next to good looking man, I’d like to know that he doesn’t kill people for a living.” 

“You’ve sat beside a murderer?” Robert asked incredulously. 

Andre shrugged. “Of course not, but I only know that because I ask. It’s a real cautionary tale, Robert Townsend.” 

“You seem in high spirits for someone who is supposedly recovering from a break up,” Robert pointed out. Andre’s eyes went vacant for a moment, long enough for Robert to tell unequivocally that he was telling the truth. “How many drinks have you had?” 

“Just two,” Andre noted. “I try not to drink enough to get drunk. I find it – hinders my intoxicating charm.” 

“You have intoxicating charm?” Robert asked, strangely enjoying the way Andre’s mouth twisted when he questioned him. 

“Haven’t you noticed?” Andre asked. “I guess I need to up my game.” 

“I suppose you do,” Robert replied, taking a strategic sip of his soda, just in time for Andre to look scandalized. 

“You are a tough one to crack, Robert Townsend,” Andre said with a chuckle, dropping his hand on Robert’s arm. The warmth of his skin was comforting after waiting for so long for Abraham’s hand. 

“You know, you don’t have to keep calling me by my whole name,” Robert pointed out, finally gifting Andre with a smirk that was immediately reflected on the other man’s mouth. 

“Of course I do,” Andre said. “I can’t call you by only your first name or last name until I know you better.” 

“Really?” Robert raised his eyebrows, “and what exactly would getting to know me better entail?” 

Andre leaned close to Robert, his mouth just close enough to Robert’s so that he could almost taste him. “Why don’t we take that discussion back to your place?” he asked, his voice deep and low. “I’d say we both need some – physical therapy – to get over our…not break-ups.” 

“Did you really just use a physical therapy line to imply sex?” Robert asked, his voice even quieter. 

“You didn’t move away,” Andre pointed out. 

Robert smirked. “You’re right. I didn’t.”


	6. Bated Breath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abigail and Billy finally get to talk about their shift in dynamic, Peggy spots Ben in a bit of trouble, Sarah and Philomena share a sweet afternoon, and Anna and Edmund go on their first date.

Abigail’s nurse’s station was empty, save for the woman herself, when Billy approached. He had kept his distance for the first week of school, unsure of where he stood with her. Abigail no longer brought him coffee in the morning; the smiles that she sent in his direction that she thought were covert were no more. Billy kept his ears open while others in the office gossiped about the rest of the staff, but no one seemed to know anything about Abigail’s sudden change in disposition. Even more frustrating, it seemed she only changed her behavior with him. 

He knocked gently on the doorframe, two cups of coffee in his hand. Nothing risked, nothing earned, right, he thought as she turned to him, her face registering first surprise and then trepidation. She gave him no words of encouragement or even of greeting. He faltered in the doorway for a second, lingering in limbo. What now? 

He powered forward. “I figured you’d need a cup of coffee if you were still dealing with all of those students who haven’t gotten their shots,” Billy explained, but still Abigail didn’t take the coffee cup. She straightened up, wiping her hands on her lab coat, eyeing the beverage warily. 

The mention of the latest administrative debacle prompted normalcy from her, if only temporarily. “I just don’t understand why it’s a problem,” she sighed. “They aren’t even supposed to be able to register without updated shot records.” 

Billy chuckled. “Administrative oversight, as usual,” he agreed, holding the coffee cup to her a little more, but still she didn’t take it. Her eyes dropped to it and rose back to him, and finally he confronted the issue at hand. “Abby, it’s just a cup of coffee.” 

Abigail’s eyes focused on the diagram of an ear on her wall. “I, uh, I already have coffee,” she said, motioning to nothing in particular. 

“Where?” he asked. 

The awkward silence followed that seemed to have no end. Finally, Billy cleared his throat and set the coffee cup down on the counter. Abigail looked like she wanted to protest, but couldn’t come up with the words. 

“If I may be frank –” Abigail looked horrified at the prospect, “You and I have been friends for a long time, and there was always the option of…” he hesitated, unsure of what to call it, “more, when and if we ever wanted to take advantage of the opportunity.” He flinched inwardly at his sterile delivery. A romantic, he apparently was not. “And suddenly, you look like I contracted the plague. Did – did something happen? Have I perpetually had something in my teeth?” 

Finally, she smiled at his lame joke, long enough for him to know that he was making headway. But still, she hesitated in responding, the silence stretching for so long that Billy found himself speaking again. 

“You’ve never been the woman afraid to speak,” he pointed out. “All I need is a word; any word that can tell me why everything suddenly changed.” 

She sighed, her eyes dropping to the floor. Finally, he sensed that she was about to say something. 

The moment came…and passed. She held her tongue. 

“One word, Abby,” he pleaded. 

“Akinbode.” 

“I – just –” he paused, confused and trying to right himself, “I’m sorry, you’re going to have to give me more than that.” 

“Akinbode is back in town,” Abigail confessed, the rigid, sharp angle of her shoulders loosening just a bit at her admission. Billy sighed. Akinbode, while not Cicero’s father, was nonetheless attached to the boy and to Abigail, no matter how many times they broke up. If he was back, Billy admitted silently, he had no chance. 

“Oh,” was all he could think to say. 

Abigail seemed to read the discouragement on his face. “It isn’t like before,” she hastened to add. “I don’t – I don’t want to be with him anymore, but with Cicero…it’s hard to be completely separated.” 

Billy nodded. “I understand that.” 

Her hand came to rest on top of the coffee cup that Billy had left on her counter. She cradled it gently between her hands, letting the warmth of the liquid through the cup keep her fingers at a comfortable temperature. She looked down at it with a soft smile; he found his eyes were focused on the cup as well, on the soft trace of her fingers over the lid.

“You know, I think this is the first time you’ve ever brought me coffee,” she noted, her eyes still on the cup. 

Billy shrugged. “It was about time I returned the favor.” 

“Bring me more tomorrow?” she asked hopefully, her eyes finally meeting his. Billy felt a smile take over his face, and gave her a happy nod. 

It wasn’t a date, but it was a start. 

***

The bell that signaled the beginning of lunch was always the most perilous for Ben. By then, he was starving, his temper short, and he probably had to pee. But he always dutifully stood outside his classroom door, his blue eyes darting through the crowd, ready to restore order should anarchy threaten to take over. 

Anarchy threatened more often than one would think in a high school hallway. 

He leaned heavily against the wall, his eyelids lazy. He had stayed up late the night before grading papers that he had let pile up against his better judgment, and he felt the three hour difference in his usual sleep schedule. He’d been through two cups of coffee this morning, and he felt the jitters lingering at the tips of his fingers, though his energy level stayed the same: low. 

The first shove of a student that Ben didn’t know took him almost by surprise; the student that took the push held his ground and pushed back, and soon, anarchy ruled again. The students in the hallway, as if by an instinct that Ben had long lost, immediately made a circle around the brawling boys, yelling insults, egging their favorite on, probably taking bets. 

Ben’s eyes searched the now wild crowd for another teacher, for backup. He found none. The hallway had emptied except for the high school rendition of Fight Club going on in front of him. He groaned and joined the crowd.

It was like walking through a boxing match of a throng of people slightly too short to be adults. Nonetheless, Ben was the only teacher in the hallway that seemed to take his duty of watching the halls seriously, and if anyone was going to break up the fight, it was going to have to be him. 

He pushed his way through the crowd, trying desperately not to elbow the students out of the way, even though he may have tripped the kid that was blocking his way into the circle. 

He grabbed the first pusher by the crook of his arm, trying to wrestle him away from the other student, who took the opportunity to land a nasty punch to the side of the other kid’s face. In response, the instigator immediately flailed his legs, catching the other student in the leg. 

“That – is – enough,” Ben grunted through pants, struggling to keep the students separated with only two hands. Where was everyone else? 

He didn’t see the fist until it caught him in the lip, and he was surprised to note that high school kids packed more of a punch than he remembered. Finally, slightly dazed and completely fed up, he yanked both students away from each other and held them by the backs of their shirts. 

“Enough!” he roared. The students surrounding the fight seemed to finally take notice of him for the first time and scattered down the hallway. Only a few brave ones staying behind to finish the video that would surely circulate through the students and the faculty by the end of the day. He returned his focus to the two students, now limp in his grasp. “You two, to Principal Washington’s office, now.” 

He took them there himself, not even bothering to ask them why they felt they needed to fight. The stinging in his lip preoccupied him; how had he managed to get punched in the face by a student within his first month of teaching? 

As he turned the corner toward the offices, he was surprised to see the one person he would have liked to never see with a stinging lip: Peggy Shippen, pointing one student down the hallway to the counselor’s office, a happy smile on her pretty face. He watched, as if his embarrassment demanded slow motion, as she turned toward him, surprise clouding her face for a moment, and then concern. 

“Benja – Mr. Tallmadge,” she corrected herself quickly. Her eyes fell to his squirming cargo. “What…what on earth?” 

“Fight,” Ben explained shortly. “These two need to go to Washington.” 

Peggy’s eyes landed on his mouth, and Ben allowed himself a moment to feel flattered before he realized that his lip was probably bleeding. Peggy offered her hand and took one of the students by the arm, joining Ben in his journey to the front of the school. 

“I don’t know why I’m in trouble,” the smaller student pointed out. “He’s the one who started it.” 

“You’re the one who punched a teacher,” the other one spat, pulling against Ben’s grip to look his enemy in the eye. 

“Patrick, I am ashamed of you,” Peggy admonished to the student Ben was holding. “I thought you wanted to stay out of the principal’s office this year.” 

“It wasn’t my fault, Miss Shippen, he started telling people that my girlfriend was going to dump me for him,” Patrick whined, seeking for the pretty teacher’s approval once more. “I was defending her honor.” 

“Because she is going to dump you –”

“Enough,” Ben snapped, and the still unidentified student fell silent once more.

“The best way to defend a woman’s honor is to let her do it herself,” Peggy pointed out dryly. “In any case, there’s no point in appealing to me; it’s Principal Washington you need to be preparing for.” 

Patrick fell silent after that, staring at the door to Washington’s office. Happy to be rid of his cargo, Ben left the two students waiting for their punishment and glanced up at the clock. Half of his lunch time was gone. He wanted to curse, but he found he was too tired to do it. 

“You know your lip is bleeding, right?” Peggy’s voice, much sweeter now that she wasn’t being disciplinary, caught him by surprise. 

“I would’ve thought you would be heading to lunch,” Ben replied, touching his lip gently. 

“I confess, I was interested to hear how you got punched by a student,” Peggy’s smile surprisingly made Ben feel a little lighter, a little less tired. “Where was the rest of your hall?” 

He explained to her the whole debacle, realizing toward the end of the story that Peggy had led him to her classroom without explanation. She opened a drawer in her desk and pulled out a tissue, pressing it gently to his lip without asking permission. He could feel the warmth of her body, almost touching his, as she inspected what she determined to be “just a little” cut on his lip. 

“Good thing, I suppose,” she said softly, as she pulled a cold can of soda from her tiny blue lunchbox and pressed it to his skin. He hissed at the temperature change. 

“Why is that good?” he asked. 

“I would hate to see those lips too terribly bruised up,” she answered easily, the compliment, the almost intimate implication making his cheeks flush bright pink. She took in the sight of his blush with a smirk that was somehow full of appreciation and not smugness. 

“Do you always say things like that to people?” he asked, the words tumbling from his mouth before he could stop them. 

She looked momentarily scandalized, and stepped away from him. Ben hastened to add, “I mean…I feel like I hardly know you.” 

“Benjamin, have you ever considered that you hardly know me because you haven’t asked me out yet?” Peggy replied easily. 

“Oh,” Ben spluttered. “I – uh – well –”

“Do you want me to do it?” Peggy asked. “Would that make you more comfortable?” 

Ben swallowed thickly, trying not to find her determination, her boldness, charming. She was waiting for his response, her eyes wide and innocent, but Ben could find no witty reply that was good enough for her. She was too tactful, her tongue too sharp. He feared he couldn’t keep up. 

“Tell you what,” Peggy finally relented, and Ben released a sigh of relief. “How about we eat lunch together in my class tomorrow? Just two teachers, chatting.” 

Ben felt a smile tugging at his lips, and despite the pain it brought him, he grinned. “I think I can handle that.” 

***

Philomena was sure that she would never truly get used to seeing Sarah covered in splatters of multicolored paint, paintbrushes sticking out of her messy bun. While the look was extremely endearing, it also made her want to pull the brushes out of her hair, just to see the hair tumble down. It made her hands itch to wipe some of the paint off of her skin, but the resulting, lingering eye contact that followed was too heavy with subtext for her to bear. 

But still, she sought her out, wondering what color would be smeared down the length of her cheekbone. Would it complement her eyes? Would it bring out the permanent flush in her cheeks? Philomena struggled to put those thoughts out of her mind as she trudged up the stairs to Sarah’s apartment. Even the doorknob had paint splattered on it, a smear of dark oil on the yellow door. 

It made her smile. 

She knocked, listening for sounds of the other woman’s approach. The faint sounds of classical music from inside the apartment held, then slowly diminished. Footsteps neared, and butterflies took flight in her stomach. 

As the door swung open, the butterflies morphed into a stampede of something much more substantial, like elephants. Her hair was down, falling in messy waves over her shoulder, her eyes bright and happy, just like they always were. What a pleasant constant to be blessed with, Philomena thought as Sarah easily moved aside, pulling her into the apartment with a grin that was soon mirrored on her own mouth. 

Someone pleased to see her. 

“I know exactly why you’re here,” Sarah said as a greeting, her hand tightening around Philomena’s own for a second before she released it and returned to her living room, Philomena following. “You got the part!” 

Her complete confidence in Philomena’s possible success brought easy laughs from her. “No, no, I haven’t heard anything yet,” she replied, falling onto Sarah’s couch, pulling one of the frayed pillows toward her. Her fingers wrapped around the fringe, tightening around the tip of her finger until she was forced to let go. “I probably won’t get the part. There were a thousand other girls there.” 

Easily, breezily, Sarah brushed off Philomena’s self-deprecating comment. “Well, since you’re here,” she began, her hands wringing together nervously, “I have something I would like to show you.” 

Philomena did not answer, but gave her an encouraging smile that seemed to bolster Sarah on. “Okay, but if you don’t like it, you have to say something, okay?” her confidence, so easy in Philomena, did not seem to extend to herself. “Promise me you’ll tell me if you hate it.” 

“I won’t hate it,” Philomena said, her voice firm. 

Sarah’s smile was weak, but the twinkle in her eyes was real. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Cheer.” 

“Just show it to me,” Philomena demanded. 

Sarah raised an eyebrow at her tone, but moved toward a canvas covered with a sheet. Her fingers curled around the material, but still, she did not lift it. Her eyes stayed on Philomena, on her relaxed posture on her couch, her fingers tight around the old cushion, her feet, crossed daintily at the ankles. With a sigh that sounded a lot like resignation, she lifted the sheet and tossed it away from her, her eyes back on Philomena. 

She couldn’t find any words with which to immediately assuage Sarah’s insecurity. She was caught up in the gaze of her own eyes, reflected back at her from the portrait Sarah had promised to finish. Her hair, much more detailed than she would have imagined possible, practically sparkled gold, her curve of her fingers graceful around her drink. The background was the bar they had met in, but it didn’t look the same. It was colored with something that only memory could give it, a kind of soft reverence and a warm blur that said nothing but the woman in the foreground was important. 

“You hate it,” Sarah said simply. 

Philomena held out her hand for her, and let Sarah pull her to her feet. Philomena was just a tad taller, thanks to her heeled boots, but it didn’t stop her from tilting Sarah’s chin up toward her mouth. 

“I thought you said I was going to be in love with you when you finished this?” she asked. 

Sarah chuckled, a weak, breathy laugh that told Philomena that the joke was entirely lost on the woman struggling to stay afloat in her gaze. “Yes, well, I finished it earlier than I thought I would,” she admitted. 

Philomena had just committed herself to kissing the artist when the back pocket of her jeans started jingling. With a groan that Sarah matched, she reached for her cell phone, ready to ignore anyone on the other line. This was more important. 

But the number emblazoned across the screen was familiar, if only in an unattainable way, and before Philomena could stop herself, she was pressing the little green icon and pulling the phone to her ear. 

Sarah turned away from the other girl to give her the privacy to listen to her phone call, but only found herself face-to-face with Philomena once more, this one of her own creation. Her critical eye lingered on her tiny mistakes, the slightly darker pink of her lips, the exaggerated eyelashes, the lack of depth of focus in the background. The study allowed her to calm the thundering in her chest. Philomena had been about to kiss her, she knew it. There was only one outcome to those fingers on her chin. 

Just letting her mind graze over the thought made her giddy all over again. 

“Yes, yes sir, thank you so much,” Philomena was gushing into the phone, and Sarah slowly turned back around as she hung up the phone. “You’ll never guess –”

But Sarah was already grinning, her smile satisfied and smug. “You got the part.” 

“I got the part!” Philomena’s happiness only bled into Sarah, who pulled her into a hug, relishing in just that even if the moment for their kiss had passed. But Philomena’s hands were low on her waist, and when she pulled away, her nose brushed Sarah’s own before her right hand left her hip and tilted her chin back up to meet her mouth. 

She tasted like cinnamon and coffee, her lips warm and pliant on her own. Her fingers left her chin and splayed gently across Sarah’s cheek, sliding easily into her hair. Sarah allowed herself a few moments of sinful indulgence before she gently pulled away. 

“As much as I would love to do this all day, and I would,” she pressed a momentary kiss to Philomena’s lips. “I think we have some celebrating to do first.” 

“This is celebration enough,” Philomena insisted, pulling Sarah tight against her body, and Sarah almost melted against her. 

“Nope,” she gathered her fortitude and pulled away again, this time to a safe distance, but being in full view of Philomena Cheer, thoroughly kissed, was not much of a safety. “I insist on at least taking you out to dinner before we get back to that.” 

Philomena made a show of crossing her arms and pouting, but the effect was slightly marred by the growling of her stomach underneath her arms. Her eyes fell to her own stomach at the sound, and both women dissolved quickly into giggles. 

“Fine, dinner first,” Philomena relented, holding out her hand for Sarah to take. “But we get to kiss at dinner.” 

Sarah allowed herself a giddy smile. “That seems like a fair compromise.” 

***

Anna stared into her closet, still not used to seeing so much closet space available to her. Selah had never had a whole lot of clothes to hang in their shared closet, but the small space in the corner that he used to occupy was glaringly empty, the wall stark white compared to her mostly jewel toned clothes. 

But no, she wouldn’t think about him right now. Instead, she renewed her focus on the dresses in question. Her first date with Edmund was tonight, and she was determined to have a good time. Truthfully, she wasn’t sure what attracted her to Edmund initially; perhaps it was the innocence and fear in his soft eyes that she had to see again. Maybe it was just that he had been in the vicinity when she needed someone to talk to. Either way, once she had decided to talk to him, he had endeared himself to her. 

He was sweet, she thought as she grabbed a dark green dress out of her closet. He was smart, she could tell from his vocabulary. He wasn’t putting on airs when he talked to her, like so many other men did. He was genuine, and sincere, and that was refreshing. 

He made her feel like she could be a good person. She hadn’t felt like a good person in such a long time. The way he looked at her – like he believed she was still capable of being worth something. 

She left her hair down, too nervous to put it up and wrangle with bobby pins, and brushed lip balm over her chapped lips. Her dresser, like her closet, was empty, wobbling without the extra weight of Selah’s shirts, boxers, and pants. She dropped her hands on it and refused to dwell. 

She poured herself a glass of wine in the kitchen while she waited for him, her phone close by just in case he got lost. When it did ring, she fumbled for it, desperate for company outside of her empty home. Her eyes registered the name dully: Abraham. 

She let the call go to voicemail. 

After over two weeks of trying to talk to him, dozens of unanswered texts, unreturned voicemails, he picked tonight to open communication again. Anna groaned, finishing off her wine in a large, unladylike gulp. No, she would not answer, she would not respond. 

But her fingers betrayed her, and soon, his voicemail was playing in her ears. 

“Anna, pick up.” A long silence and a clunk that sounded like a glass bottle being set down. “Anna.” His voice was rougher this time. “Mary is cheating on me, Robert doesn’t want to speak to me anymore. I need you.” There was a longer silence now, punctuated only by what sounded like muffled crying. “Please, Anna. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t call you back. I love you. Call me.” 

His voice, so broken, brought tears to her eyes, but she held them in, refusing to let them fall. They had been through this circus before; he would get drunk and call her, upset, crying, because of some imagined slight by Mary, and he would reel her back in. They would comfort each other, filling their empty shells until they felt like real people again. 

But that wasn’t working anymore. Every indiscretion felt like it punctured a new wound, and the happiness that he left behind would leak out faster every time they were together. It was an addiction, a habit that could be kicked, that needed to be kicked, for their own good. 

She dropped her phone on the table and left it there to rinse out her wine glass, ignoring it when it vibrated. It was Abraham, she could tell now. He was testing her, trying to see if she would answer a text but not a call. She wouldn’t give in. 

The expected knock at the door nonetheless made her jump, and Edmund’s nervous eyes were a welcome distraction. She invited him in long enough for her to grab a coat, just in case it rained on them again. He passed her a bouquet of lilies, a soft, pure white that was far more than she deserved. His pressed suit was a navy blue, with a light blue shirt. His eyes lingered on her green dress for a moment appreciatively, and she knew she had made the right decision. 

“They’re beautiful,” she breathed, letting the petals brush against her skin. He flushed, pleased with her response. 

“I tried to find some flowers that – well, flowers that would match your beauty,” he avoided her eyes, and Anna could see their date had sent him into uncharted waters. He was more nervous than just a guy who hadn’t been on a date in a long time; he was nervous like a man who hadn’t been on many dates at all. 

“You’re going to charm me, aren’t you?” she asked him, her smile stretching when he stumbled over a coherent response. “I can tell you are far more charming than anyone else I’ve met.” 

“You are too kind,” he finally stammered, and Anna took his arm, leading him into the evening, her phone forgotten on the table. 

Their short drive to the art museum was quiet; Anna didn’t want to engage him in too much conversation immediately, and she found herself at a loss for what to talk about. She took the time to study his face, an angular, almost severe profile that reminded her of the art they were going to see. His face certainly wasn’t one that she often saw, and when he caught her looking, his lips quirked upward in a shy smile that crinkled the skin around the edges of his eyes, and Anna, true to her prediction, found herself completely charmed by the genuineness of his open expression. So often was she forced to hide her own feelings that she was unaccustomed to seeing someone unabashedly shy, or nervous, or even happy. 

“It’s a small museum,” she pointed out as they pulled into the almost empty parking lot, “but they do have some nice pieces in it.” 

Edmund seemed a little more at ease with a conversation about art. “And who is your favorite artist?” he asked, offering her his arm on the uneven pavement. She took it, sliding her hand into the crook of his elbow gently. 

“Oh, they wouldn’t have any of his pieces here,” she dismissed quickly. But Edmund’s eyes, his kind eyes, were still full of questions, and she realized that she was allowed to talk about what she liked here, instead of having to censor herself. “My favorite artist is Vermeer.” 

“Oh, the Girl with the Pearl Earring, right?” Edmund replied enthusiastically. “I saw a documentary about him the other day, and it was quite interesting. If you like, I can show it to you sometime.” 

He seemed to catch the implication the moment the words left his mouth; he flushed a bright red, and struggled through an explanation. “That is – if you would like to – I mean, I would be happy to – oh bugger.” 

His final exclamation pulled a giggle from Anna that startled him; his eyes met hers, probing for her approval or disapproval. They paused in the doorway of the museum, Anna’s hand still nestled in his arm. 

“I would love to see that documentary,” she replied easily. 

“Even if –” he couldn’t bring himself to find the words. 

“Even if tonight is a complete disaster,” she agreed. “That is, unless you decide that you don’t want to see me again.” 

He scoffed like that was an impossibility. 

They wandered the museum aimlessly, with no plan, with no necessary order of operations. Anna found herself completely wrapped up in the serenity of the quiet museum and Edmund’s quiet questions, his soft declarations of “ooh, I like that one,” or “I’m afraid I don’t see the appeal,” and offered her opinion as he asked of it, and sometimes disagreed with him just to see him get flustered and defend a painting that she secretly loved. 

The more they talked about art, the more relaxed Edmund became. He seemed to find his words easier now, soothed by the quiet and her steady hand on his arm. When he spotted a painting he really liked, his other hand dropped to hers unexpectedly, lingering there on top of her fingers while Anna waited to see how long it would take for him to retract it. 

But he was so caught up in the painting, his eyes tracing the lines of color, that she managed to slip her fingers between his and hold his hand gently in her own for a few moments before he realized what had happened. 

He took in their joined hands with a timidity that softened her. She wanted to ask him if this was okay with him, or if she presumed too much, but her stomach had other plans. It rumbled accusingly, and even Edmund allowed himself to laugh at her expense. 

“I think it’s time for dinner,” he suggested, leaving their hands together. “Now, do you like Indian food?” 

Anna furrowed her brow. “I think I’ve had it maybe once. Why?” 

He tugged on their joined hands, pulling her toward the exit. “Because I know exactly where we’re getting dinner.” 

The restaurant Edmund took her to was a gas station. She stared at it, confused for a moment, while Edmund got out of the car and opened her door. She let her hand fall easily into his, lacing their fingers together almost without thinking. 

“Edmund?” she asked as he led her to the shabby looking gas station. “What are we doing here?” 

He looked as confident as she had ever seen him. “Trust me,” he said. 

The restaurant wasn’t a restaurant, really, but a stand at the back of the gas station. Edmund ordered quickly and with purpose, talking easily with the man behind the counter. They seemed like old friends, exchanging jokes and small comments while the man prepared Styrofoam containers before their eyes, sliding them into plastic bags. Before Anna knew it, they were done, and Edmund was leading the way back out to the car, and Anna was more confused than ever. 

“Are we not going to eat the food?” Anna asked finally, as the smell of whatever Edmund had ordered wafted toward her. She couldn’t place the spices that she smelled, but it still smelled delicious. 

He chuckled, his previous nerves gone. “Patience, Anna,” he admonished lightly. “We’re almost there.” 

“There” was a park that Anna had grown up playing in. She, Ben, Caleb, and Abraham had skinned their knees on the playground, had climbed the trees, had gotten drunk there when they were only sixteen. 

But it doesn’t matter, she thought forcefully. It didn’t matter what had happened there. What mattered was what was happening now. Edmund spread their feast over the picnic table, opening all of the containers and explaining the different dishes, arranging them in order of spice. He let her taste them all first, watching her face carefully for her approval. 

They fell easily into their past conversations, going back to art, and music, and books. He was so very smart, Anna thought; she worried that she wouldn’t be able to keep up. But never once did he condescend her. If she didn’t know the book, they’d move on to another one. They easily passed the plates between each other, picking food off of each other’s plates. 

“How on earth did you find that place?” Anna asked, pulling her favorite dish closer to her. Edmund smiled at her possessiveness, proof that she truly did approve of where he had chosen. 

“Accident, I suppose,” he shrugged. “I went into the gas station for, as you may guess, gas, and the little stand in the back was giving out free samples. I was hooked on it after that, I suppose. I’ve always wanted to take someone there.” 

“Well, it’s delicious,” she assured him, her other hand landing on top of his. His eyes fell to their hands, so often together. 

“I’m having fun,” he confessed, his eyes still on their hands. 

“I am too,” she replied, and her voice drew his eyes up to hers. She smiled warmly, watching as he mirrored her facial expression. “I’m glad I ordered you to take me on a date.” 

“Hey,” he protested, “Let’s not forget that you also made me late for an important business meeting.” 

“Since I was not aware of your previous obligations, I can take no blame for that,” she shrugged, and Edmund’s incredulous laughter spread warmth through her chest. “I’m sorry, Edmund, but your professional irresponsibility is your own fault.” 

“My professional –?” he broke off the statement when his laughter overtook him. “That’s some mighty big talk for a woman who lost her coffee.” 

“That was not my fault.” 

“Oh, and who saved the day?” Edmund gestured to himself, pointing his little plastic fork at his own face. “I believe I was the one that gave you my other coffee, if you so recall.” 

“Uh huh,” Anna conceded, taking a sip of her drink, squeezing his hand gently. 

“Anna?” 

Her eyes rose immediately to a voice she already recognized. Her laughter slid slowly from her face. “Abraham.” 

Edmund, a smile still ghosting over his face, took in the countenance of the man Anna had once chosen over her husband. He was a scraggly mess, his stubble uneven and untrimmed, his flannel shirt buttoned incorrectly. 

“I’ve – I’ve been calling you all evening,” he said, his eyes landing on Edmund for a moment before disregarding him. 

Anna stayed sitting down, kept her hand inside Edmund’s. “I left my phone at home.” 

“Anna – I,” he glanced at Edmund again, his jaw tightening as his eyes fell on their joined hands. “Can we talk? In private?” 

Anna tightened her jaw, and Edmund could feel her grip on his hand clench. “I’m actually a little busy –”

“Anna –”

“Abraham,” she said more forcefully. “Not now.” 

The man was beside her in a moment, ready to appeal to her better judgment. Edmund felt insecurity wash over him heavily and, after a long moment, took his hand out of Anna’s. 

“Mary is –”

“I heard your voicemail, Abe,” Anna interrupted, her eyes flickering over to Edmund. “I chose to leave my phone behind tonight, because I didn’t want to think about it.” 

“But I –”

Anna quickly cleared her throat and stood. “Actually, Edmund and I were just about to leave,” she said, her eyes locking onto Edmund’s quickly. He read her plead in the brown depths, and together, they closed the little packages of food and bagged them up, leaving Abraham behind on the bench. Anna took Edmund’s hand again, long enough to squeeze it. His eyes met hers for a moment, and he knew what she was trying to say. 

I’m sorry.

***

Edmund took Anna home, the drive as silent as their first drive to the museum. But Anna refused to meet his eyes, her gaze locked on something far away from both of them. When he pulled into her driveway, she was forced to turn toward him, and he was surprised and horrified to see tears swimming in her eyes. 

“I’m sorry,” she said to his expression, wiping at the tears that she hadn’t yet shed. “I never wanted –”

“I know,” he answered readily. “I know.” 

“I feel like I ruined everything,” she admitted, her gaze on her hands. 

He turned the car off and turned as much as he could toward her. “You didn’t ruin everything,” he reassured her. “I promise. Nothing that happened tonight changed any opinion I had about you.” 

His compliment shook a tear free from her eyes, and he reached immediately to wipe it away. 

“What would make you feel better?” he asked, his voice soft. 

“Come inside?” she asked. “We can finish our dinner there.” 

With a distinct notion that he was playing with fire, Edmund agreed.


	7. Tested Boundaries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We continue where we left off.

Her house looked like it wasn’t quite full, not quite lived in. He attributed that to her husband’s new absence as he saw her shove a box full of baseball cards under her kitchen table as they placed the leftover food on the counter. He could feel her eyes on him, watching him for approval, for disapproval. He allowed himself a quick moment to look around the room before he turned back to her. 

“Now, do you want some butter chicken?” he asked, holding up one bag. “Or do you want another samosa? I know you like them.” 

She hadn’t been expecting that, he guessed as a surprised smile fluttered across her face. She took a moment to consider, and the relief that spread over her countenance soothed Edmund a bit. He had never felt this at ease with someone so quickly; he wanted to make sure she felt like she could be whoever she was, completely, when he was around. 

“Butter chicken,” she decided finally, holding out her hand for it, “just because you predicted the samosa.” 

He smirked at her and passed the bag in her direction. Instead of sitting at the table, like he had expected, she kicked off her heels and padded into the living room, her bare feet landing on a luxurious rug. He had been raised in too proper a household to ever eat food in the living room, so he watched, from the invisible barrier that separated the kitchen from the living room, with no small amount of surprise, as she plopped onto the couch and pulled a little tray specifically for the forbidden eating of food in the living room to her lap. 

“Well come on,” she admonished lightly. “Let’s see if that documentary you wanted to show me is on Netflix.” 

The mention of the documentary brought another blush to his cheeks. How she hadn’t turned and run from him when he brought up a second date prematurely amazed him. He figured, if he had been analyzing Anna Strong correctly, she was prone to doing the opposite of what was expected of her.

“That was supposed – I mean,” he stumbled, trying to decide if he was going to finish the sentence or not. “I thought that was going to be a second date.” 

Anna studied his face for a moment, trying to read any ulterior motives. She did that a lot, he noticed as he stilled under her scrutiny. She always looked like she was about to say what she meant, but pulled back and swallowed the words for another time. 

He wondered who had taught her to do that. 

“After ruining the end of our first date –”

“You did not –”

“I did,” she insisted. “After ruining the first one, I think moving straight on to the second one is our best option. If that’s okay with you.” 

He allowed himself a moment to take in the view before him: a beautiful woman, her hair long, shiny, and dark, and eyes that sparkled full of constellations, waiting for him to decide if he wanted to spend time with her. He never thought he’d see the day. 

“I doubt anything would be more okay,” he answered finally, taking the seat beside Anna happily. 

***

Two hours later, as the documentary came to a close, Edmund became aware of the quiet, steady breathing beside him. Sometime during the documentary, Anna had slipped into a heavy sleep, her head cradled on Edmund’s shoulder. He wanted to feel offended that she had fallen asleep during the documentary instead of watching the whole thing, but as he glanced down at the small sliver of her face that wasn’t obscured by her hair, he found he couldn’t be angry. 

She was too beautiful, and she looked so peaceful. 

He reached for the remote, ready to switch Netflix off, but as his body shifted toward the remote, Anna protested, her hand around his arm tightening, her mouth letting out a quiet groan of frustration. He stilled immediately, a soft smile taking over his face. As a test, he leaned away from her again, relishing in the sleepy sounds she made as she struggled to both stay asleep and keep him from moving away from her. 

Unfortunately, he underestimated the length of the couch, and soon, he was flat on his back on the couch, and Anna was still determinedly leaning against him, his new precarious position putting her almost completely on top of him, without any knowledge of doing so. 

He was definitely going to have to wake her up now, he reasoned, and as he tried to free his lower body from her weight, she shifted in a truly indecent way against his hips. He froze, his eyes squeezed shut tight, and tried to find a less embarrassing way out of his new predicament. 

Luckily for him, the ringing of his phone in his pocket shook her awake, and she quickly moved off of him, her wide eyes taking in the fact that she was practically on his lap, no thanks to his own ill-advised movements. 

He fished his phone out of his pocket, avoiding her eyes so he couldn’t see her disapproval, her disgust. His phone blinked a name: John Andre. With a furrowed brow, he answered it. 

The other end of the line was full of a weird static, ambient noise that Edmund was not familiar with. “John?” he asked. A few mumbled words came back to him, and the sound of something hitting a wall. “Andre?” 

He listened for a few moments more, his ears straining. A scrambling sound, the sound of someone grabbing the phone, came over the line loud and rough, and Edmund recoiled away from it. 

“Hey, your phone is on,” someone said. Anna, her head resting on Edmund’s shoulder again, perked up. 

“I know that voice,” she said. “Put it on speaker.” 

“This is my boss –”

“Edmund –”

He relented immediately, and the sound was suddenly filling the room. Andre’s voice sounded far away and muffled. “Why would my phone be on?”

“You pushed something on it,” the voice said, much closer, and Anna covered her mouth. “I – I think it called someone.” 

“Hang it up and come back to bed,” Andre replied, his voice slurring the vowels. Whoever he had been talking to obliged, a loud beep telling Edmund he had been prematurely hung up on. Anna’s wide eyes drew his curiosity next. 

“Oh my god,” she muttered. “Oh. My. God.” 

“Oh my god what?” Edmund asked. Her eyes met his, full of surprise, mischief, and energy. How she managed to be suddenly so full of everything, moments after waking up, was a mystery he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to solve. 

“Do you realize what just happened?” she asked, leaning away from him so she could better see his face. Edmund shrugged, casting his eyes about the room for a response. 

“Um, Andre accidentally called me?” 

“Okay…” she trailed off, trying to get more. He shook his head. 

“Did you hear what he said at the end?” she asked. “’Hang up the phone and come back to bed’?” 

She could see the realization dawning on Edmund’s countenance, and it drew a giggle from her. “Oh my –”

“God, yes, exactly,” Anna replied. “And, I think I know the guy he was with.” 

But Edmund wasn’t really listening. “But he has a girlfriend! He was just talking about her a week ago.” 

“A lot can change in a week,” Anna pointed out. Edmund paused in his own musings to take in her face, still creased across one cheek from his shirt, the excited glint in her eyes, her hand on his arm. She was right, he agreed silently. 

A lot could change in a week. 

***

By the end of his fourth period class, Ben could feel nerves alive and wriggling around in his belly. His lunch with Peggy, proclaimed to be something easy, with no pressure, nonetheless imparted pressure that he couldn’t counteract. His lip was still sore, his ego bruised. Being around Peggy made him feel like he had to constantly be on his toes, ready to respond with a witty comeback, ready to match her charming smile, the artful way her fingers wrapped around his arm.

She was all charm, all grace, and he felt like he had two left feet every time she looked at him. 

The bell jolted him from his thoughts, and as his students rushed for the door, he felt anxiety press harder on him. It was only a matter of minutes now. He grabbed his little lunchbox, packed by Caleb this morning when he realized he had a lunch date. (“Not a date, Caleb.” “Oh, Tallboy, it’s a date. She got you to go on a date without even asking you on a date. I like her.”)

The halls seemed to empty around Ben as he walked toward Peggy’s door, the students steering clear of him. It seemed like the whole school knew where he was going, what he was doing, and how inadequate he was. Or, maybe they were all just going to lunch. That could be it. 

“Benjamin!” Peggy greeted with a warm smile, and the pressure on his shoulders lessened just a bit. “Come in.” 

He stepped tentatively into her classroom, remembering the last time he was there, blatantly asking Peggy why she flirted with people, and felt the resulting embarrassment rise in his cheeks. 

“My, you just got here, and already you’re blushing,” Peggy chuckled, offering him a chair in front of her desk. “I feel like your mind is somewhere else.” 

He shrugged, taking the seat. “I was just remembering the last time I was here.” 

Peggy’s eyes were smiling at him, and he momentarily lost his train of thought in them. “I admit, it was an unusual encounter. It’s not every day I have to nurse another teacher back to health.” 

“It wasn’t that bad,” Ben protested, cracking open his lunchbox. 

Peggy smirked. “There was blood involved. The worst I usually deal with are paper cuts.” 

“Can we just call it a paper cut of the face?” Ben pleaded. “Knowing that a child punched me in the face is still embarrassing.” 

“I think it was noble,” Peggy disagreed. “You could have just let them fight it out, but you refused to be a teacher that sits back on his laurels and refuses to help the students. No matter the outcome, I think it speaks to your character.” 

Ben stared at her for a moment, his hands hovering over his lunch. “Seriously?” 

She blinked once, and it was as good as a nod. Ben, his pride placated, brought his eyes to his lunch. Caleb had packed him his favorite sandwich, pesto and tomato with mozzarella, with his zucchini chips. It wasn’t the sandwich that caught his attention, it was the “dessert” that Caleb had provided him. 

Chocolate covered strawberries. 

He could feel the heat in his ears again, and he struggled to pretend like nothing was wrong, hoping the blush would dissipate before Peggy noticed. 

He had no such luck. “What happened now?” she asked, a laugh at the edge of her voice. He buried his face in his hands, letting his embarrassment make a child out of him, at least so it would draw a real laugh from her. “I swear, Benjamin, your face is permanently pink.” 

“My best friend is a chef, so he insisted on making me lunch today, because –” he motioned between the two of them, and it was Peggy’s turn to flush a light pink. “So he thought he was being funny by sending me these.” 

He pushed the lunchbox toward her, and as soon as her eyes landed on the strawberries, giggles took her over completely. She covered her mouth daintily, her eyes meeting Ben’s over the desk. “I’m sorry,” she said through her giggles. “I’m sorry, that’s just…your friend is good.” 

“I hate him.” 

“Oh, don’t hate him,” Peggy admonished lightly. “He’s funny.” 

Ben pursed his lips but didn’t argue. He reached for his sandwich and the pair munched in a companionable silence. Their time for lunch was short, and they had spent a good amount of it talking. As their time ticked to a close, Ben’s eyes fell on the strawberries again. 

“Do you want one?” he asked, pushing the lunchbox toward her. 

“You don’t?” she replied. 

“I don’t want to give him the satisfaction,” he pointed out dryly. “So if you don’t eat them, no one will.” 

Peggy reached for one of the strawberries, picking it up by the little green leaves. As she fixed her eyes on it, Ben realized his mistake. He was forced to watch, his breath halting in his lungs, as Peggy took a bite of the strawberry, the shape of the fruit puckering her lips around it in a way that was too indecent for a high school. 

The groan that left her mouth didn’t help anything; Ben was cursing Caleb in his mind, cursing him with every power he could think of, trying to take his eyes off of Peggy. She seemed to know what he was thinking, as she always did; she put the strawberry back in her mouth, the juice of the fruit dripping onto her finger. He knew what was coming before she did it; when her lips closed around her finger, sucking the juice off of it, he wondered if he should just go before he couldn’t stand up without showing off to everyone exactly how affected he was by her show. 

She wasn’t just teasing him now; her eyes were heavy-lidded, her gaze locked on his eyes while his eyes were on her mouth. She dropped the stem into his lunch box and exhaled shakily. 

“Perhaps one strawberry is enough,” she said, her voice quiet enough to keep from breaking the spell. 

“I –” Ben cleared his throat, struggled to swallow, and tried again. “I should probably go.” 

Peggy didn’t try to stop him, but rose from her seat as he got up. He had meant to leave; he meant to walk down the hallway, maybe splash some cold water on his face to banish the remnants of arousal that he wouldn’t be able to truly banish until he was safe in the sanctity of his own home, but his feet carried him to Peggy, who stared up at him almost challengingly. 

Gently, with the tips of his fingers, he pushed her to the wall behind her desk, out of sight of the door and any possible approaching students leaving lunch early.

He could see her hands flutter, unsure of where on his body to land. She kept them by her side, waiting to see what he was going to do first. 

He felt like he was being pushed forward by some invisible force; what else could he do but follow it, respond the way his body wanted him to respond? He could see her eyes flicker to his mouth; she thought he was going in for the kiss. He wanted to oblige her, but he knew that if he kissed her, he would be truly useless for the rest of the day, caught up in her taste, in her smell. 

He was taking too long; Peggy’s hand landed on his cheek, her thumb brushing over the bruise on his lip. 

The soft pressure of her finger on his lip spurred him on, and he leaned in, just enough for Peggy to drop her hand from his lip. He couldn’t back out now, didn’t want to, but even as he got close enough to feel her breath ghosting over his face, still sweet with the smell of chocolate, the bell startled them both. 

He moved away from her, and he could see that she was breathing just as heavily as he was. 

“Another time?” she asked first, her voice small but lower than usual. The timbre of it sent a jolt through him, and he had to clear his throat again before he could respond. 

“Another time,” he promised. And, with a boldness that he didn’t know he had, “I still have another strawberry in there.” 

He pointed to his lunchbox and left it behind for her. Let her feel that same tingle that he did; let her understand how affected he was. Finally, for the first time since he met Margaret Shippen, he felt like they were on even footing. 

***

Caleb wasn’t sure what possessed him to ask Mary to get a drink with him at the bar, but he rationalized, at least silently, that he wanted to make sure she was okay, especially after Abraham’s quick exit from their dinner. But no matter how many times he told himself that he was only here to make sure she was okay, the traitorous voice inside his head kept shouting that he was there because he liked her; he was there because he wanted to see her. 

“Brewster!” her voice was far more upbeat than it had been when he left her at her house, her eyes still red from the tears she shed from telling him the whole debacle. 

The knowledge that Mary had been unfaithful to Abraham was a shock, though the more he thought about it, the more he understood her. Mary was a tit-for-tat kind of woman; when she was slighted, she could easily fall on the side of vengeful. The fact that it had taken her so long was a testament to her character. 

Or maybe he was biased. 

“You look good,” he replied without stopping himself. Mary furrowed her brows at him for a moment before turning her eyes to her own outfit, and Caleb turned halfway away from her to take a drink from his beer. He really needed to stop doing that. 

“Bud Light, please,” she told the bartender, letting his compliment slide by unacknowledged. 

“How’s little Sprout?” he asked, directing his way into safer waters. Mary gave him a grateful smile. 

“He’s with Samuel, so he’s very excited,” she confessed. “Samuel Townsend with spoil my son to death, I swear.” 

“He’s just excited,” Caleb protested lightly. “Robert isn’t likely to give him any grandchildren.” 

Mary shrugged, taking a sip of her beer. The slight smile on her face had yet to be banished since she sat down, and as her eyes slid over to him, Caleb took that as a good thing. 

“What?” she asked, her smile stretching even wider. 

Caleb straightened up, suddenly aware that he had been staring at her. “What what?” he asked innocently. 

“You’re staring at me,” Mary protested. “Do I have something on my face?” 

Caleb smirked. “No, you don’t. You never do.” 

Mary flipped her hair sarcastically as a show of triumph. “That’s right,” she agreed, but her eyes shifted past him to focus on someone behind him. Her smile faded, and he watched as she shifted so that she was facing the bar completely. 

“What just happened?” Caleb asked, glancing around them. There weren’t a whole lot of people in the bar at 7 p.m., so the likelihood that Mary spotted someone she knew was slim. That was the whole reason he came here this early. 

“Nothing,” she shrugged, but he could see the tension in her shoulders. 

“Mary –”

“Shh!” she exclaimed, her eyes still avoiding his direction. 

“You and I both know that being quiet is not my strong suit,” Caleb admonished, searching again their surroundings. “What, do you know someone?” 

Her hand landed on his arm and squeezed. “Stop.” 

“Stop what?” he asked, hushing his voice to appease her. “I can’t stop if you won’t tell me what’s going on.” 

A voice, soft and high, interrupted them. “Mary?” Caleb turned back toward the voice, his eyes narrowed. A man, much taller than himself, and even a good deal taller than Abe, was standing behind them, his suit pressed and expensive, a glass of whiskey in his hand. 

“John,” she greeted, her smile not quite meeting her eyes. 

The man she called John smiled at the sound of his name on her lips, and Caleb quickly put the pieces together. He didn’t know him, and he knew all of Mary’s friends, because they were also his friends. If he didn’t know him, then he must be – 

Oh boy. 

“It’s been a while,” John replied, leaning against the bar on the other side of Mary so she was effectively stuck between him and Caleb. Caleb took that moment to survey him. His hair was reddish blond and curly, his eyes wide and blue. There was a softness to him that Caleb didn’t buy; the man was slightly off-kilter, enough to make him nervous. 

“It’s only been a few days,” Mary said in a hushed voice to him. John, seeing he was about to hit a conversational wall, turned his gaze to Caleb. 

“This must be your husband,” he said, and Mary tensed, coiled like a stretched violin string. “John Graves Simcoe,” he offered his hand to Caleb. “Mary and I are friends.” 

“Caleb Brewster,” Caleb shook his hand, forcing himself not to squeeze the man’s hand. “But I’m not her husband. I’m an old friend.” 

He put the same emphasis on ‘friend’ that John did, and Mary’s resulting warning gaze was enough to tell him that she noticed, but he couldn’t stop himself. This man had the audacity to introduce himself to Mary’s husband, after point-blank saying that he hadn’t seen Mary in a while? Even a man as dense as Abraham would have figured that out. 

“Oh,” John turned his gaze to Mary for a moment before looking back at Caleb. “I had no idea Mary was so popular.” 

Caleb felt his lips turn upward in a sneer. “I guess you don’t know Mary that well after all.” 

“Does Mary get a say in any of this?” she asked, and Caleb felt guilt stab him at the look on her face. She looked tortured, full of guilt. 

“Actually, we have somewhere we need to be,” Caleb pointed out, his gaze significant. “Don’t you remember?” 

Mary glanced up at John, who was looking at her imploringly, waiting for her to agree or contradict Caleb. “Uh…yeah, yeah we do,” she said finally, dropping a few dollars on the wood of the bar for her beer. “Let’s go.” 

“It was a…pleasure, Caleb Brewster,” John called after him. “I’ll talk to you later, Mary.” 

It wasn’t a good-bye, but a see you later, and Caleb felt his hand clench into a fist as he led Mary into the parking lot. She stayed a few steps ahead of him all the way to her car, her purse sliding off of her shoulder and into the crook of her arm. 

“What the hell was that?” Mary asked, turning on her heel to face him. Caleb took a half step backward. “You think that just because Abraham isn’t around and doesn’t care that you can just defend me in his place?”

“What?” Caleb asked, astonished. “No, Mary, that wasn’t what –”

“Oh, then what was it?” she asked, crossing her arms. “Because you sure sounded like a jealous husband back there.” 

He groaned inwardly. He had shown his hand too soon, he had blown his chance for a friendship with Mary. Truthfully, what could he have hoped for? Friends that occasionally had dinner together, occasionally got drinks? Would he have been satisfied with that, after he had seen how beautiful she was when she laughed, when he saw how happy she could be if someone just made her laugh? 

“You looked terrified,” he reasoned. “I was just trying to help you out.” 

“I don’t need your help,” she argued, crossing her arms. “I could have handled it.” 

Caleb mirrored her stance. “If you wanted to go with him, you could have. You didn’t have to let me drag you away.” 

She fell silent, her eyes focusing on something far away. Caleb gave her a few moments to think before he interrupted her thoughts. “Did you want to leave with him?” 

“It doesn’t matter,” she answered. 

“I’m sorry that I butted in,” Caleb replied honestly. “I’m sorry that I acted like a jealous husband. You have a husband that should be doing that. I shouldn’t have –”

“But I don’t, do I?” she asked, her voice falling flat. There was no malice there anymore. “I don’t have a husband that would do that.” 

Caleb sighed, leaning against a Toyota as the thought weighed heavily on him. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “But you should.” 

There wasn’t much for him to say after that, so he stepped away from her so that he could get into his Jeep. She watched him go, something indescribable on her face. He knew, as he glanced back at her, that he would spend the foreseeable future trying to decipher the expression. 

“I didn’t want to leave with him,” she called after him. The sentence, unwarranted but appreciated all the same, drew a smile from him. He left her there, in the parking lot, trying to decide what to do next. 

***

“You know, you don’t have to take me out,” Robert pointed out as Andre led the way to the third row of the theatre. “I don’t mind.” 

Andre waved off his protestations. “Nonsense, Robert, you deserve to see this play,” he took his seat and motioned to the one beside him. “Besides, it’s more of a gift to me, being able to show someone this play. Consider yourself just the plus one, if it helps.” 

The easy way that he gave him an out reminded Robert of his own relationship with Abraham. “You don’t have to do that, you know,” he replied. 

“Do what?” 

“Give me an opportunity to trivialize this,” Robert motioned to the theatre at large. “These were expensive tickets, and I know we said this was just for fun,” he dropped his hand on Andre’s thigh, “I still appreciate that you wanted me to see this.” 

Andre’s smile was sincere. “I’m glad.” 

Robert left his hand on Andre’s thigh, relishing in the lack of embarrassment that Andre felt at his public display of affection. He knew that they were both using each other for comfort, or closure, or whatever they wanted to call it, but knowing that there were people out there who weren’t ashamed made him feel hopeful. 

One day, he hoped he could call Andre a friend, even if they weren’t sleeping together, even if he managed to get his girlfriend back, even if Abraham never spoke to him again. 

The lights flickered three times, an indication that the show was about to start, and Andre’s hand came to rest on top of Robert’s. 

He smiled.


	8. War in Pieces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the gossip pot gets slowly turned, and everyone gets a little dizzy.

Eight o’clock in the morning used to be early, Anna mused grumpily as she pushed her cart full of returned books through the dusty stacks. DeYoung’s Library opened at 9 a.m., and even though Anna usually saw close to three people in an entire day’s work, she was still expected to be shelving books, making coffee, and on her feet from 8 a.m. until 6 p.m. 

War and Peace, she ran her fingers over the worn cover familiarly. This particular book had only been checked out four times since she had started working here over five years ago. An ambitious college student had come in her first year and checked it out for close to six months. He came in every two weeks to make sure he renewed his library card, holding the book possessively in his arms. Anna had watched, on a bi-weekly basis, the bookmark slowly work through the volume’s pages. 

When he finally turned it in, she felt proud of him, even though she still couldn’t remember his name. She had given him a coffee, on the house, for his accomplishment. 

An older woman had come next, and then a history professor, and a man who claimed he was going to write a musical on the text. Anna wasn’t sure if that ever came to fruition, but he had taken the book for almost a year before he brought it back and paid his overdue fees, almost forty dollars. 

She wondered how long it would be before someone decided to pick this book up again. She wondered if anyone could feel the history in its pages. She pressed it gently into its proper place on the shelves and continued down the row, her eyes expertly cataloging the books on her cart and the ones on the shelves. 

She would find the next piece of the puzzle to fit in soon, she knew. 

The heavy doors at the front of the library creaked open, the oak door heavy and uninviting, and Anna brought her eyes to the clock above her. 9:12 a.m. So she had already been here an hour? 

Her cart caught on a snag in the carpet and Anna whispered a curse, bending down to wrangle it free. The maroon carpet clung to the little wheel, but with some twisting, it came loose and hung there, limp and desolate. 

I understand your pain, little string, Anna thought as the cart ran over the string. 

“Anna!” 

The familiar voice did nothing to comfort her; Anna gazed down at the string, wishing that she had the pleasure of being run over by a book cart instead of this painful conversation. With a quiet sigh that wanted to evolve into a groan, she turned to greet the voice. 

“Abraham,” she replied flatly. 

“I –”

“Let me guess,” Anna resumed pushing her cart, trying to ignore the irritated bristle she felt as she heard Abraham follow her. “You tried to call.” 

Abraham’s voice was unabashed; if anything, he sounded annoyed. “I wouldn’t have to sneak up on you if you just answered the phone.” 

Anna snorted, the undignified sound echoing through the empty library. “If you didn’t notice, I called you for weeks, and never once did I show up at your place of employment to demand that you listen to me.” 

“Anna, please, can we just – can we not fight?” 

Anna grabbed a book off of the cart (The Salem Witch Trials, by Taylor Trade) and slid it into its place. “I don’t know, Abraham, can we?” 

He groaned. “I didn’t come here for this; I didn’t – I don’t want to make you angry.” 

“Then what is it, exactly, that you want?” 

His hand caught hers, gently extricating it from her book cart. “I want to be with you.” 

Her eyes stayed on their joined hands, their wedding rings still showing. What a pathetic sign, she thought cynically. She pulled her hand back. “I don’t think you do,” she replied, continuing down the row and onto the next one. “Or else you would have answered my calls, when I tried to tell you that Selah was leaving me.” 

“I was…” he trailed off when Anna didn’t interrupt him. She paused, a volume of Shakespeare’s complete works in her hand. 

“You were…what?” she coaxed. 

“I was dealing with stuff,” he finished vaguely. 

Anna nodded as if his response made perfect sense. “Does that…stuff…have anything to do with Robert?” 

He flinched like she had thrown boiling water over him. “Don’t –” he caught himself almost immediately. “Robert and I are not speaking right now.” 

Anna raised her eyebrows. “I’m aware. You told my voicemail last night. Anything about that you’d like to share with the class?” 

He said nothing, the silence spreading like smoke and blending with the stuffy library’s sleepy atmosphere. Anna searched his face for something, anything, that could tell her where to go next. When she saw the muscles around his jaw tighten, she took a wild guess. 

“Does this have anything to do with Rob sleeping with some John Andre guy?” 

She could see his reaction in his stillness; his hands, always fidgeting, stilled around the hem of his beanie, his eyes focusing on something far away from her. She read it all in his face.

“If you need me to say it –”

“Whatever it is you’re about to say, I’d prefer if you didn’t,” Abraham interrupted. Anna raised her eyebrows at him. “I don’t want to talk about Robert.” 

She nodded. “Sure,” she continued down the row, her eyes searching for Shakespeare’s place. She could hear him following her, his footsteps too loud for the quiet library. 

“I don’t want to be with you, Abe,” she said as she triumphantly put the book back where it belonged. She kept her eyes on her work. “I know that’s not what you want to hear, but –”

“Is this about that guy?” Abraham interjected. 

Anna sighed. “No, this is about you still being married to Mary, and your affections obviously lying somewhere other than me.” 

“My affections –”

“Deny whatever you like,” she countered easily, “but I’m not blind, and I’d like to think I’m not stupid either.” 

“I never said you were stupid,” Abraham argued. “But this isn’t about anyone but you and me.” 

She smiled sadly, reaching for Abraham’s hand. “When will you realize that this will always be about everyone else before it’s about you and me? You’re here because Robert won’t speak to you, because you’re afraid Mary has moved on. You’re not here because you love me. The sooner that you’re honest with yourself about that, the sooner you’ll feel happy again.” 

She was sure he had an entire speech planned to counteract her argument, but Mr. DeYoung’s voice caught her ear, and she managed to hurry off with a quick, “Sorry,” before he could begin. 

“Is that young man looking for a book or for a date?” DeYoung asked, narrowing his eyes at Abraham, who looked sheepish. 

Anna shrugged. “I’m not sure, sir. But either way, I don’t think we have what he’s looking for.” 

***

Robert was used to answering ringing telephones; it was all part of his job description. But every now and then, he would feel a little pulse of anxiety, just enough to make him hesitate in lifting the phone from the cradle. It happened to him now, as the phone jingled happily. His father used to call that feeling a premonition, a foreshadowing of trouble to come. Robert usually refuted that idea, but his father’s voice would sometimes float to the surface of his mind. Like now.

Finally, with a sigh that usually calmed his nerves, he picked it up. 

“Delaware Hotel, how can I help you?” his voice sounded fake to his own ears, and he grimaced a little at it. 

“Rob?” 

He recognized that voice. “Anna?” he asked, feeling surprisingly happy to hear from her. When he and Abraham were talking every day, the idea of talking to Anna Strong used to fill him with dread. Now, he felt nothing. “Long time. Can I help you with something?” 

“I’m actually not calling for business,” she apologized. “What time is your lunch hour?” 

Robert’s eyes rose to the clock above his desk. “About an hour,” he replied. “Why?” 

“Come to the library. We’ll have lunch,” her voice was deceptively cheery, and Robert detected a hint of a current running beneath he couldn’t identify. 

“Why?” he asked before he could stop himself. “I mean…we haven’t talked in –”

“Call it catching up,” she said vaguely. “Look, I have to go before I get in trouble. I’ll see you in an hour.” 

She hung up before he could respond, and Robert allowed himself a few moments of staring at the phone before he hung it up. Anna Strong wanting to have lunch with him could only mean one thing – she and Abraham were back together and she wanted to make sure that he was okay with it. The idea exhausted him, and suddenly, Robert had devised a dozen ways that he could get out of the obligation lunch. He could say he was sick, that he had to work through lunch, that he was really, truly sorry, but it just wasn’t possible today. Could they just catch up over the phone? At least there he wouldn’t have to worry about his facial expressions. 

But the hour came, and without even bothering to call Anna, Robert clocked out and headed three blocks south to DeYoung Library, where he found Anna sitting at a table in the little café section, a sandwich and a bowl of soup in front of her. 

She smiled at him as he approached, her eyes dark but simultaneously sparkling with something vivacious. Robert smiled back at her, but he could tell the sentiment didn’t reach far enough to be reflected in his eyes. 

“Do you want some?” she asked, indicating her food. “On the house.” At his questioning look, she leaned closer and added, “DeYoung went out for some appointment, so he’ll never know.” 

“What is it?” he asked curiously. 

“Just tomato soup and a ham and mozzarella sandwich,” she explained, already getting up to pour him some. “You’ll like it. Shall I pour you a cup of coffee?” she asked. Her back was already to him, and it occurred to Robert for the first time that she was probably just as nervous about this interaction as he was. 

“Sure,” he replied, but he knew she wasn’t really listening. He could see it now, the nervous movement in her hands, the tense set of her shoulders. 

He let out a long breath, deciding as much as possible to let his anxiety flow out of him. There was no reason for them to both be nervous, right? 

With his lunch set before him, and Anna fidgeting in her chair, trying to figure out how to start, Robert cleared his throat; it brought her eyes up to him, a grateful gaze that said please speak first. 

“I’m assuming this has something to do with Abraham,” Robert began, and Anna released a relieved smile in a huff of a breath. 

“It usually does, doesn’t it?” she asked. They both chuckled quietly. “He told me that you two aren’t speaking right now.” 

Robert took a bite of his sandwich to prolong answering. Fortunately, Anna took his silence as an indication to keep talking. 

“And I suppose I should probably just throw this out there while I can, but I know that you’re…with John Andre.” 

He coughed over his bite of sandwich, and Anna grimaced sympathetically. “I’m sorry,” she said quickly, “but the other night, Andre’s phone called a guy that I was with and we both heard your voice, and –” she caught sight of his expression and stopped. “I don’t…I’m not judging you, or anything, I just – I didn’t want to make things weird.” 

“Well, looks like we swiftly avoided that issue,” Robert retorted, taking a sip of his coffee to calm his throat. Anna allowed herself a moment to laugh before she sobered again. 

“Abe came to see me today,” she said. Robert felt his jaw tighten. “He says he wants to be with me.” 

There it was again, the sharp pain in Robert’s chest. He winced. “Why are you telling me this?” 

Anna straightened in her chair and scooted closer to the table. “Because I think it’s bullshit.” 

Robert narrowed his eyes. “What?” 

“I called him, for weeks, when Selah left,” Anna admitted. “I figured that this was finally our time, that we could finally be together. But he didn’t pick up; he didn’t answer my voicemails, he never returned my texts. He didn’t try to reach out to me…until he lost you.” 

Robert dropped his gaze to the table, suddenly very aware of his heartbeat galloping in his ears. 

“Don’t get me wrong,” she continued when he didn’t speak. “I love Abe, and I always have. But we have been so many things to each other, and none of them were good for us. He’s my first love,” she paused for a moment, and Robert raised his eyes from the table long enough to see her wipe away a tear, “but he won’t be my last. I have no intention of being with Abe again.” 

“Why are you telling me this?” 

Anna smiled, a weak smile through the cavalcade of emotions on her face. “Consider this my way of saying that I am stepping aside for you,” she answered. 

Robert felt, as he always did, the knee-jerk need to deny what she thought of his sexuality, of his own romantic interest. But she was being honest, what did he have to lose by being honest in return? 

“He doesn’t want me,” he replied, the words suddenly hard to dislodge from his throat. 

“You’re wrong –”

“I’m not, Anna,” he insisted. “Because he already told me so.” 

She didn’t ask for an explanation, but her eyes, large and curious, prompted him to continue anyway. “When he was drunk…he kissed me.” 

He was prepared to hear Anna gasp, or something dramatic that he usually heard when his sexuality was unequivocally confirmed. But she gave nothing, only an encouraging nod that he took as a sign to go on. “And he disappeared for a while, and when he came back, all he could talk about was you and Mary, and…” he took a sip of his coffee, enough to bolster himself for the rest of the story, “he wanted to forget it ever happened.” 

“I’m sure he didn’t –”

“He did,” Robert insisted. “I believe his exact words were ‘I’m not like you.’”

Anna, to her credit, took the information with a straight face, but he could see her frustration in the way her mouth was set, almost a sneer, but not quite a frown. She sighed, the sound muffled through her clenched jaw. 

“I – I’m sorry,” she admitted. “I never expected Abraham could be so –”

“Stupid?” Robert supplied. 

“Hard-headed,” she corrected. After a moment, she sighed. “Are you happy? With Andre?” 

Robert finally allowed himself a smile. “I’m not really with Andre,” he replied. “We’re just…a casual arrangement.” 

“I admit, I don’t know anything about him, but if you ever need to bring him somewhere for coffee, there’s always here,” she gestured to the library at large, “if only so I can spy on him for my own selfish purposes.” 

The laugh the statement pulled filled Robert with a lightness that he didn’t expect.

***

The lunchbox haunted Peggy for the remainder of the day and into the next one. She had, in fact, eaten the second strawberry at the end of the day, not willing to let it go to waste when Benjamin didn’t come back to her classroom. Was he still as shaken as she was by their almost-kiss? The thought alone brought a smile to her lips. She had been so sure, so absolutely sure that he was going to kiss her; the dark hunger that danced across his face was unlike anything she had ever seen on Benjamin Tallmadge’s face before, and she vowed to see more of it. 

A knock on the doorframe sent her pulse into a tizzy, and she let out a breathy, “Come in,” ready and expecting to see Benjamin when she turned around. 

She was disappointed.

“John,” she greeted breathlessly, exhaling heavily at the sight of her ex-boyfriend. “What – what are you doing here?” 

He stepped more fully into the classroom, looking as chagrined as he usually did when he knew he had done something wrong. “This was the only place I knew I could find you,” he admitted. His voice was softer than usual, a cushioned edge to his slight accent. 

“For what?” she asked. 

“I want you to come home,” he answered easily. “Come home to me.”

Peggy took in his impeccable suit, his long hair tied away from his face. “It took you this long to come see me?” she asked, turning away from him to start writing the practice algebra problems on the blackboard. 

She could hear him approaching her, but she knew he would not touch her unless she gave her permission. “I wanted to give you space,” he wheedled, his voice even softer now that he was closer to her. “I didn’t want to push you.” 

“Admirable, but I don’t think this will be fixed with space,” Peggy retorted, checking the handout in her fist to make sure she had the problem written correctly before moving to the next one. 

John sighed. “You never told me what I did wrong,” he pointed out. 

Peggy kept her back to him; John Andre, with his dreamy eyes and his soft words, was more than enough to charm any woman. She wouldn’t give in this time. She let the silence run for a while, trying to decide how to best respond to him. Finally, she forced herself to speak. 

“I found those pictures of Philomena,” she said. John, who had been fidgeting behind her, went silent and still. “I know you were having someone follow her to make sure she stayed away from me.” 

“Margaret –”

Finally, she turned back to him. “You see, I always wondered if I had overreacted, if there was nothing for me to worry about. But you – you always use my whole name when you did something wrong.” 

“Let me explain –”

“Explain what?” Peggy asked. “Explain that you wanted her kept away from me? Why? Because you were afraid that if we accidentally met at a grocery store then we would immediately start talking about you? Or were you afraid that she would tell me that you were with her in that very short time that we weren’t together?” 

“I wasn’t –”

“I can tell when you’re lying, John,” Peggy interrupted. “I’m not stupid. If you had just been honest with me –”

A cleared throat caught their attention. Peggy knew, before she even looked up, exactly who it was. 

“Benjamin,” she breathed, and John’s eyes moved between the two of them suspiciously. Ben took that as an invitation to enter, his eyes flickering between Peggy and John. She wasn’t sure what kind of clues her face gave him, but he turned to John, his hand extended.

“Benjamin Tallmadge,” he addressed John with a polite smile. “English teacher.” 

“I’ve heard about you,” John answered, shaking his hand. “John Andre. Peggy’s boyfriend.” Ben’s jaw hardened momentarily at the word, and Peggy could see that John noticed.

“John!” Peggy exclaimed as Ben’s eyes turned to her. “He’s my ex-boyfriend,” she directed to Ben, aware that her tone of voice made her sound guilty. Perhaps she was. 

“Not that she ever told me,” John turned to Ben as if he were confiding in him a secret. “Just up and walked out on me, what…a week ago?” 

Ben’s eyes met Peggy’s. “A week?” he asked. John caught his tone and turned back to Peggy, who was trying to find the words to tell Ben that it wasn’t what he thought, that she could explain, but the words were stuck in her throat.

“I guess, based on that inflection, that your interest in Benjamin Tallmadge was more than what you originally told me,” he said, his voice feigning surprise. 

Peggy groaned inwardly. John, with such good manners, was always so cruel when he felt slighted, when his feelings were hurt. Seeing Benjamin standing there, in his pressed khakis and soft, warm smile, was a knife to his gut that he probably hadn’t been prepared to see. 

“I don’t understand,” Ben was addressing John now, his hand in the pocket of his cardigan clenched tight. “She never told me –”

“No, I suppose she didn’t,” John smirked. “See, Peggy told me that she was assigned to you by your principal to make you feel at home. I guess, that too, was a lie, wasn’t it, Margaret?” 

“That’s enough,” she finally said, and both John and Ben turned back to her. “John, I think it’s time for you to go,” she directed to her ex-boyfriend, who nodded like he was expecting that. “I’m sorry,” she added as he turned to go. “I really am.” 

“If you were sorry, you’d come home,” he answered, his smile sad and the sight of it ached Peggy’s heart. 

She didn’t have anything to say to that, and John seemed to sense that the conversation was over. “Good luck,” he directed to Ben, but the statement was devoid of any malice. Ben gave him a single nod, as if he desperately wanted the entire exchange to rapidly become a memory, and shuffled his feet. 

In the wake of John’s exit, Ben turned his eyes to Peggy. “I should – I should go too,” he said, already turning away toward the door. 

“You’re not even going to let me explain?” Peggy asked, her feet rooting her to her place at the front of the classroom. The sound of the bell interrupted them, and they stared at each other over the empty desks that were soon to be filled. 

“I don’t imagine we have the time,” he said truthfully. 

“Benjamin –”

He didn’t stay to hear why she interrupted him; her first students were lingering in the doorway, and he used that moment as an excuse to escape into the overflowing hallway. 

***

Mary wasn’t sure how she knew that John Simcoe would be at the bar when she went; perhaps that was the whole reason she didn’t call him, but decided to sit and wait. He probably wouldn’t come, she reasoned as she sipped her now lukewarm beer. If he didn’t come, then she could chalk it up as a good effort and put it off for a good long while. 

“Another beer?” the bartender asked, leaning his elbow on the bar. “While you wait for your boyfriend?” 

“I’m not waiting for anyone,” Mary defended immediately, though why she felt such a need she could not answer. “And can I get a vodka soda, please?” 

The bartender gave her a wink and turned away from her to make it, Mary’s eyes following the movement of his hands carefully. He passed the drink to her on top of a napkin, a little cocktail straw sticking out of it. 

“I confess, I didn’t think to see you here so soon,” John’s voice was just as soft as she remembered, and she thought distinctively that his voice reminded her of the soft touch of velvet. 

“Do you come here every night looking for me?” she asked, polishing off her beer and chasing it with a sip of her vodka soda. John watched the movement of her hands closely, as though he thought she was going to reach for his hand. 

He shrugged. “Since you established that you were never going to call –”

“I thought we decided that there were no strings attached,” Mary pointed out. John fell silent, considering her statement. 

“True,” he finally relented. “But I’d like to propose an amendment to that, if I may.” 

Mary could feel the horror, based in embarrassment, rising in her. “John, don’t –”

“Just let me take you on one date, Mary,” he was practically pleading with her, his hand covering her own gently, enough that she could slide it out if she wanted to. “Just one date, and then you can decide.” 

She gently extricated her hand. “I already decided.” 

He didn’t seem terribly surprised. “That’s why you’re here,” he said, as if he had known it all along. “This is…a breakup, so to speak?” 

“I suppose you can call it that,” she acknowledged. “I’m not…I don’t dislike you, John, and you didn’t do anything wrong,” she continued, this time braving his personal space to put her hand on top of his. “But I’m not sure that I can handle the guilt that comes with cheating on my husband.” 

He stared down at their hands, hers so small and his so large, and covered her hand with his other one. “I always figured you were too good of a person for me,” he admitted. “I suppose this is proof. Here I am ready to take you on a date, and you’re wrestling with marital guilt.” 

She shrugged, reclaiming her hand to take a sip of her vodka. “We are in different situations,” she replied. 

He didn’t have much to say to that, but he sat with her for a little while, sipping his own glass of scotch. They didn’t speak much, and when he was done with his drink, John paid his tab and hers and left her at the bar, staring into the dregs of her drink. She was supposed to feel liberated, she thought ruefully. She was supposed to be happy. 

She felt heavier than ever. 

She ordered another drink while she fished her phone out of her pocket, trying to figure out exactly what she planned to do with it. But her fingers, tipsy from very little alcohol, dialed for her, and she seemed to be just along for the ride. 

“Mary?” Caleb’s voice was immediately concerned. “What’s going on, are you alright?” 

For some reason, his greeting made her feel worse. “I – I just wanted to say that I’m sorry I snapped at you,” she apologized, trying her hardest not to slur her words. “I was…I don’t know what I was doing, but I wasn’t used to someone trying to protect me, you know?” 

Caleb paused for a long time, as though trying to figure out how to respond. “Mary, are you drunk?” 

“I mean, probably,” she answered, chomping down on a piece of ice. “I should be, right?” 

He sighed; she could hear him getting up from wherever he had been sitting. “Do you want me to come get you?” he asked tentatively, still testing his boundaries. 

“’m okay,” she replied, chewing on the cocktail straw. “I’m gonna call a cab home.” 

There was a long silence. Then: “I’m coming to get you.” 

It wasn’t long before he was waltzing into the bar, his own rudimentary swagger as graceful as a waltz to Mary’s inebriated sense of motor skills. He spotted her easily and gave her a sunny smile and a wave that warmed her chest. He was always so – happy, so easy going. She wished she could be like that. But no, she was neurotic and snippy, and only a couple of drinks could make her bearable. 

“I don’t believe that,” Caleb was saying softly in her ear as he helped her up, and Mary realized with a blush that she had said all of her thoughts out loud. “I always thought that you were fun to be around, as long as someone could figure out how to make you laugh.” 

“You make me laugh,” she replied, though what she meant by that statement, she couldn’t be sure. 

“I’m glad,” he answered, and his delivery was so soft, so genuine, that it took her completely by surprise. She fell silent, staring at his profile for a few moments, and he struggled to pick up the proverbial conversational ball that he had dropped. “Okay, drunkey, let’s take you home.” 

“I don’t – no, not home,” she argued, unable to vocalize what she wanted. 

Caleb paused in the parking lot as he fiddled with his keys. “Okay…then where do you want to go?” 

“I don’t – I don’t know,” she could feel that she was on the edge of tears now, and Caleb’s alarmed face told her that he knew it too. 

“Okay, okay, uh….” He cast his gaze around the parking lot, as if a solution would be parked next to the black Buick. “I can take you back to my place to sleep it off. Where’s Thomas?” 

“Samuel,” she answered, her hands reaching for the door to his Jeep. “I pick him up tomorrow.” 

“Alright,” Caleb acquiesced, helping her into the seat and buckling her up. “I’m going to leave the window rolled down in case you need to spew, got it?” he asked, poking her in the nose, drawing a giggle from her. “No spewing in the car.” 

She gave him a sloppy salute that he returned. She was asleep before they left the parking lot, her head resting on Caleb’s shoulder.


	9. Coveted Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which Mary has an epiphany, Billy's courage is greatly appreciated, Ben reveals his struggle (and gets Peggy's in return), and Anna stays silent just a moment too long.

Morning dawned quietly, sneakily, as if no one would notice if it kept the chirping of the birds silent and the fog low on the ground. It was several hours into the morning before it was morning enough to rouse Mary from her heavy sleep, her cheek resting on her bare arm. She knew, before even opening her eyes that she wasn’t in her bed, but on a couch and covered in several blankets. 

They smelled vaguely familiar, the name of their owner lingering at the edge of her mind, but she found she couldn’t dwell on it enough to put her finger on a name. She didn’t really care, anyway, she thought absently, shifting underneath the blankets, groaning as a beam of sunlight danced across one of her closed eyes. 

“Well, well, it looks like Sleeping Beauty is finally awake,” the voice was soft, softer than the blankets, and Mary smiled at the sheer comfort of it for a moment before she realized who it was. She wrenched her eyes open, shielding one of her eyes from the sunlight. Caleb was sitting on the armchair across from her, his feet perched on the edge of his coffee table, a cup of coffee in his hand. 

“What the –”

His eyebrows jutted together quickly. “I – I’m sorry. You were drunk and didn’t want to go home, so…”

She glanced around the room, taking in the light brown walls, the dark green sofa she was currently sprawled out on, and the shag carpet from the seventies. There was a ship in a bottle on his coffee table. Somehow, that was not at all surprising. 

“Understood,” she grunted, wiping her eyes free of sleep. The movement just pulled her deeper into the blankets and she closed her eyes again, relishing in the soft fabric. “What time is it?” she asked. 

“It’s about,” he checked his bare wrist and, after a moment, glanced up at the clock on the wall. “Ten in the morning.” 

She bolted upward, the blankets belatedly falling away from her, as if they mourned her departure as much as she would. “Ten?” she asked incredulously, reaching up to smooth her hair and wipe what was probably the remnants of drool from the side of her mouth. “You’re serious.” 

“Yeah,” he shrugged, looking rather alarmed at her quick shift in demeanor. “Why?” 

“I have to –” she struggled to untangle herself from the blankets, only succeeding in tightening one traitorous piece of fleece around her ankle and almost slipping onto the floor. “I have to go pick up Thomas from Samuel’s.” 

“I can go get him,” Caleb offered, placing his coffee cup on the edge of the coffee table with practiced ease. “Seriously,” he insisted when Mary stared up at him like she was absolutely positive he was joking. “Your car isn’t even here. I’ll go get him and bring him here. We’ll have breakfast.” 

Breakfast? She wasn’t sure how to take the idea of eating breakfast with Caleb and her son, in his apartment, almost like they were a family. Her confusion must have shown on her face, because Caleb took his seat again, his eyes fixed on her. 

“Or,” he offered, the same manner in which a man would offer a skittish puppy a piece of roast beef, “We can go get Thomas and then go get your car, and you can go home.” 

“Abraham is probably looking for me by now,” she agreed quietly. Caleb’s face tightened, almost imperceptibly, at the mention of her husband. 

“So, you want me to take you home, then?” he asked. 

Something in his face had changed, just enough that Mary noticed that he had never truly been completely comfortable around her before, and her mention of Abraham had ruined it. His face was back to the way it used to be, with just a hint of the guard he usually kept up around her. She considered him, perched on the edge of his chair, watching intently for his next instruction. He had been so kind, and he seemed so dejected at the idea of her leaving so soon. 

And Abraham – Abraham likely wasn’t even home yet. 

Mary threw caution to the wind. 

“Who’s going to cook?” she asked. 

His grin lit up his whole face, his friendly eyes almost disappearing in the wake of his glee. Before she realized it, Mary was smiling too. The sight of her smile brought a flush of pink over his cheeks. 

“I will,” he volunteered. “Just take my car and go get Thomas.” He led her to the entry, where his keys were resting in a bowl that looked like a hammered and flattened old beer can, and tossed them to her. “You aren’t still drunk, are you?” he asked, quirking an eyebrow at her. 

She squinted, trying to determine her own level of inebriation. “I don’t think so?” 

“Walk a straight line, ma’am,” he ordered, pointing at the floor. He ran her through the stereotypical sober exercises, purposely pushing her when she tried to maintain her balance, knocking her hands awry when she tried to touch her own nose, dodging her playful swats like a happy kitten that brought a smile to his face that he could not banish. 

She left him standing in the doorway, his smile expanding in her chest like a balloon. She sat in his Jeep, her hands on the steering wheel, for a long moment, a grin settled over her face. 

She hadn’t felt this light in years. 

***  
Caleb was standing in the kitchen, an apron tied around his neck and waist, when Mary returned, Thomas in her arms. He turned to her when she entered, the concentration in his brow giving way to that same silly grin that felt like a punch to her stomach. 

“Unca Caleb!” Thomas shrieked in appreciation, jumping free of his mother and running to Caleb. Mary kept her eyes on him, bracing himself for the small boy’s tackle hug. He looked so at home with her son, hitching him higher on his hip while he flipped a pancake. 

He turned back to her, his eyes quizzical, and Mary realized she was still standing in the entry, with the front door open behind her. The fact that he looked back at all warmed her cheeks, and she realized, with a jolt, why that was. 

Because he cared about her. And because she cared about him. 

The notion wasn’t nearly as terrifying as she thought it would be. 

Caleb carried Thomas to the table, where he had already stacked several books on the seat so the boy could see over the table. There was a small pancake on his plate, shaped like Mickey Mouse. He drizzled syrup on top of it and dropped a piece of bacon on top. 

“Trust me,” he reassured the boy when he squeaked in displeasure. “It’s delicious.” 

Mary took the seat on the other side of Thomas, trying to shake the smile from her lips. Caleb turned his gaze to her. 

“What?” he asked. 

She shook her head. “Nothing.” She stared down at the food. “Feed me, Brewster.” 

“Your wish is my command,” he smirked, and tossed a piece of bacon at her. 

***

Seven. This was the seventh day that Billy brought Abigail coffee. The walk was now a habit to him, and the friendly and soft flirtation that happened after was typical. It was…routine. He wasn’t sure if “routine” had a negative or positive connotation, but still he cradled the little travel cup of coffee close to his chest and practically trotted down the hallway to the nurse’s station. 

“I’m not saying I don’t want him to focus on school,” a voice wafted down the hallway, a baritone that Billy didn’t recognize, “I just think he needs to think about extra-curriculars.” 

“I am not teaching my son to fight,” Abigail’s voice was slightly over a hiss, and immediately, Billy knew who was in there with her. 

“I can help –”

“Football is an extra-curricular activity,” Abigail interrupted. “Soccer, debate team. Fighting is just you trying to make sure my son follows in your footsteps, and I will not have it.” 

There was a silence before Akinbode spoke again. “So you think you’re better than me?” 

Before he could think about what he was doing, Billy shoved himself into the room. “Coffee, Abby?” he asked with faux-innocence. He took in Akinbode’s appearance, the broad-shouldered, uniformed stature that intimidated almost everyone, including himself. His hand was tight around Abigail’s upper arm. Billy glared at it until he released it. Immediately, Abigail took several steps away from him, and gratefully accepted the cup of coffee. 

“Thank you, Billy,” she said, her eyes slightly wider than usual. 

“Don’t thank me yet,” Billy replied, his mind racing. “I brought you coffee because Washington said he needed to see you. Something about a lice epidemic, I don’t really know.” 

Abigail’s eyes flickered to Akinbode, who crossed his arms and looked like a man prepared to protest vigorously at the idea of his imminent exit. Billy sighed and turned his gaze to him. 

“I’m sorry, I’m going to have to borrow her,” he apologized, with the air not being at all sorry. “Principal’s orders.” 

Akinbode ignored him and shifted back to Abigail. “We will talk about this later,” he promised, and stalked out of the room, making sure to bump Billy with his shoulder. Billy didn’t bother looking surprised, but took the shove without emotion. Abigail dropped her head to her hands. 

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, as if she was still worried that he’d be nearby. “I had no idea he was going to be here.” 

“Don’t worry about it,” Billy waved off her apology. “He doesn’t scare me.” 

Abigail raised her eyebrows at him incredulously. Billy shrugged. “Okay, he does a little.” 

She laughed, and her laugh brought a smile to Billy’s lips. “How can I repay you for your moment of courage?” she asked, a teasing lilt to her voice that Billy had rarely heard before. 

“Well,” he held the word just long enough to pull another giggle from Abigail, just so he could commit the sound to memory. “How about you sit with me at lunch? I have lunch duty today anyway.” 

“It’s a date,” she said softly, dropping her eyes to her coffee cup and looking back up at him through her lashes. 

Yes, Billy thought as he practically skipped down the hallway, it was. 

***  
After the debacle that was his introduction to John Andre, Ben was pretty convinced that he was never going to walk down the math hallway ever again in his life. He didn’t want to be a part of some weird love triangle, especially with a guy like Andre, that could dismantle him so easily. 

The lunch bell jingled, and instead of staying in his classroom, Ben ventured out to brave the cafeteria for the third time since the year began. It was always a madhouse for the first few minutes, but after the lines started to lessen and everyone got food in their bellies, it was surprisingly tranquil. 

He turned the corner, already trying to decide between greasy pizza and a salad when a head of curly blonde hair caught his attention. Quickly, with the grace of a ballerina with an inner ear infection, he turned on his heel and retreated quickly, casting his eyes over his shoulder to make sure he hadn’t caught Peggy’s attention and – 

Smashed directly into a strong chest and toppled directly to the ground. 

The first thing he noticed were the shoes; tasteful brown, but just scuffed enough to let him know that they weren’t new. He recognized those shoes. His eyes met Principal Washington’s sheepishly, and it took a few moments before Ben realized that Washington had offered him his hand to help him up. 

He took it gratefully, the larger man’s hand closing tightly over his own, and struggled not to blush. How many times had this exact fantasy played out in his head over the past year or so? How many times did he think about this exact thing happening? 

Washington was looking at him with concern, and Ben realized that he had been too caught up in his hand in his to hear it. 

“I’m sorry, sir, what?” he asked. 

“I asked if you were alright, Tallmadge,” Washington repeated with a slight smile at the edge of his mouth. “It seems as if you are a little shaken up.” 

“Oh, no sir, I’m fine.” 

“You were running away from the cafeteria pretty briskly,” Washington pointed out. “Is there something going on in there that I need to be made aware of?” 

Ben flushed. “Oh uh, no sir, just….” 

“Just avoiding someone?” Washington asked shrewdly. Ben dropped his gaze to the floor, back to Washington’s brown shoes, and didn’t answer. “How about I go grab some food, and meet you back at my office. We can talk about it.” 

Suddenly, this conversation was too real, too intimate. “That’s okay, sir, I can just –”

“I insist,” Washington cut him off gracefully. “Now, I am particularly fond of the horrible pizza this place serves. I’ll grab you a couple of slices, and Martha would be perturbed if I didn’t finish it with a salad. Will that do?” 

Ben sheepishly toed the tile floor. “Yes, sir.” 

“You don’t have to call me that, Tallmadge,” Washington admonished lightly. “Stop by the vending machine on your way to my office and get me a Sprite, will you?” 

Ben nodded and shuffled off to do as he was bid. He grabbed two Sprites from the vending machine, forgoing the caffeine in the wake of Washington’s close proximity. He only had to wait a minute in Washington’s office before the man reappeared, blocking Ben’s view of his diplomas on the back wall. The man had a bachelor’s, master’s, and doctoral degree in education. 

“I had an interesting interaction in the cafeteria after you left,” Washington began, gently sliding over a plastic tray with two slices of pizza and a salad on it over to Ben. “With a Miss Margaret Shippen.” 

Ben, who had immediately taken a bite from the slice of pizza, choked. 

Washington, to his credit, did not smile, but looked unsurprised. “I thought so,” he noted, spearing a tomato out of his salad and popping it into his mouth gracefully. “It might interest you to know that she was looking for you.” 

It did interest Ben, in fact, but in a way that made him vaguely nauseated. Washington considered his face before he continued. 

“You know, I try to stay out of my teachers’ business, but as a principal, sometimes I get pulled in against my will.” 

“Sir, I didn’t –”

“I thought I told you that you didn’t need to call me that,” Washington pointed out. “Now, I wasn’t saying that I was faulting you. In fact, I would fault my wife.” 

“Your…your wife?” Ben asked, confused, dropping his slice of pizza to the plate. 

“You see, my wife likes to take an interest in teachers she thinks are promising. You, for one,” Washington indicated Ben, “And Miss Shippen. We were also close friends with Miss Shippen’s ex-boyfriend and the man you replaced. Benedict Arnold.” 

Ben had nothing to say to that, so he reclaimed his slice of pizza and listened. 

“Benedict had the potential to be a great teacher; he was strict, orderly, had a degree in pedagogical theory, everything I thought a good teacher needed. However, he didn’t take well to children, especially teenagers with a streak of rebellion. He was temperamental, and I more often than not, had to field angry messages from parents that claimed that Benedict was abusing their child in the classroom. I thought it was a case of student resistance. I trusted him too much. I saw him with Peggy, I saw that she looked happy.” 

Ben sensed that there was a “but” coming, and not one he would especially appreciate. 

“Peggy had been dating Andre before Benedict, and her initial attraction to Benedict was simply that he wasn’t Andre. I thought they made a good match, until she appeared on my doorstep one evening with a bloody nose.” 

“Andre –” But even as he said it, Ben knew it couldn’t have been him. 

“No, Benedict,” Washington corrected him gently. “He was a drunk, and when Peggy said something he didn’t like, he threw the bottle at her. He missed, but the glass still cut her. She left that night, and I fired Benedict. A few weeks later, she was back with Andre, and they stayed together through the summer. She needed to feel safe again, I think, and Andre gave that to her. But they have never been compatible.” 

“I’m not sure what that has to do with me,” Ben said quietly. 

“I’m getting there,” Washington admonished. “If what I heard while I was making tea in the kitchen is accurate, Peggy found photos of another woman on Andre’s phone the day after the school year started. They broke up that day. She has, according to my wife, had eyes for you for slightly longer than that.” 

“So she and Andre did break up, then,” Ben clarified. Washington nodded. “And what about…” he paused to collect himself. “Andre said that you assigned her to me to make me feel welcome.” 

“Assign her?” Washington repeated. “No. I told her to find a new teacher and make sure they had everything they needed. She chose you.” He shifted in his seat and dropped his chin to his hands. “You met Andre?” 

“He was in her classroom yesterday,” Ben said sharply. 

“Which is why you were running from the cafeteria,” Washington confirmed, mostly to himself. “I can’t speak for how Peg feels for you, but she went back to Andre because she needed to feel stable, to feel safe again. I don’t think anyone can begrudge her that.” 

“No, I understand,” Ben agreed, “I’ve done the same thing.” 

“Have you?” Washington asked. 

“When my…friend, Nathan, died,” he hesitated calling him his boyfriend, his eyes jumping up to Washington nervously. “My family didn’t see it as much of a loss, because he was kind of a troublemaker when we were younger, so I moved out and I moved into an apartment with my best friend.” 

“And that became stability for you,” Washington finished. 

“I struggled for a long time with depression,” Ben admitted, “but having someone around that I could lean on, even for just a second, was priceless to me. Without him, I don’t know what I would have done, or what would have happened to me.”

“There’s no shame in it,” Washington said, seemingly unprompted, but Ben appreciated that confirmation all the same. 

“You’re right,” he said quietly. 

***

When Anna heard the sound of a key sliding into the lock of her house, her first instinct was to grab a knife with which to stab the intruder. It took a few moments before she realized that there was only one person that had a key. 

Selah nudged the door open with his foot and peeked inside. She still hadn’t gotten off the couch. 

“Hey,” he said, rather sheepishly, moving further into the house. Anna narrowed her eyes at him. “Can I come in?” 

“It’s still your house,” she pointed out. 

He shut the door with his foot and surveyed her. “I bet you’re surprised to see me –”

“That would be an understatement,” Anna replied, finally standing up from the couch. “I thought you said you were gone for good? Never coming back? Ring a bell?” 

Selah dropped his gaze to the floor. “I shouldn’t have said those things. I was angry and I wanted you to feel bad.” 

“Well, it worked,” Anna said, crossing her arms. “I just figured that the statute of limitations on a bluff ran out after a week.” 

Selah stepped toward her, his arms wide. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry I didn’t come back, I needed time to clear my head.” 

“To clear your head?” Anna repeated incredulously. “You said – you said our marriage was over. That’s not something you just decide to take back out of the blue.” 

“Are you still seeing Abe?” Selah asked pointedly, dropping his arms when Anna didn’t reach for him in return. 

Anna shrugged and looked away. 

“Anna, I want to be your husband, and I want us to make this work,” Selah pleaded, “But I couldn’t do that while you were still seeing Abe and pretending that you weren’t. But if you aren’t –”

“No, no, I’m not seeing him,” Anna cut him off, moving past Selah and into the kitchen. “But that doesn’t mean that you can just come back here and do this. You can’t just threaten to leave and make me think it’s for real and then come back.” 

“I said I was sorry,” Selah repeated. “That’s more than you’ve given me for infidelity.” 

“We are not –” Anna cut herself off, inhaling sharply. “We are not doing this.” 

“Anna, please,” Selah’s hands slid into hers, the same way they’d held hands the day they got married. “Give me one more chance. We can make this work.” 

Anna stared up at him, the “no” climbing slowly up her throat, but before she could say anything, Selah dropped a kiss on her lips and pulled her into a hug, murmuring against her neck how they would be better this time, everything was going to get better. 

Anna felt sick.


	10. The Boys are Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caleb and Ben have a bro moment. Abe is....Abe, and Peggy and her cousin have family time.

The afternoon came too quickly, and Ben practically trotted out of the school, his car keys jingling in his hand. After his talk with Washington, he needed to talk to Caleb. Talking about Nate, about the way he struggled after his death, had put a new kind of pressure on him; he had been lucky enough to have someone to lean on after that. That was a miracle. But Peggy had only had the comfort of another relationship she had already grown tired of. He felt guilty, almost nauseatingly so, for not allowing her to explain. 

He was so caught up in his thoughts that he pressed the lock button on his car several times in place of the unlock, and had just let out a growl of frustration at his crappy car before he realized his thumb was hovering over the wrong button. He allowed himself a moment of pure silence before he turned the key in the ignition; he took a deep breath and cast his eyes about the parking lot, looking for a car that he could attribute to Peggy Shippen. What kind of car would she drive anyway? A sports car? A truck? He couldn’t decide, and ended up pulling out of the parking lot without making any sort of decision.

Caleb was at the apartment when he arrived, washing dishes. When Ben had left early that morning, he found a note Caleb stuck to the bathroom mirror: “Mary asleep on the couch, don’t wake her.” Mary was nowhere to be seen, but there were three plates in the sink, three forks, and two mugs and a plastic cup. 

“Mary and Thomas?” he asked, the tilt of his head indicating the extra dishes. “What exactly is going on there?” 

Caleb’s hand, washing the same pan he always used to cook bacon, stilled. “What do you mean?” 

Ben turned away from his best friend to drop his bag by the couch. “You know exactly what I mean,” he said, collapsing comfortably into the pillows. It smelled feminine, like Mary’s shampoo. “Come on, spill your guts. You know you want to.” 

Caleb returned to his scrubbing, his hand around the pan slightly tighter than before. “I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours,” he wheedled, rinsing the pan and dropping it onto the little spongy mat beside the sink to try. “I want the Peggy Shippen update.” 

“Deal,” Ben said steadily. Caleb’s eyes met his own with astonishment. 

“Tallboy, the secretive Tallboy, is going to openly talk about a girl he likes?” he crowed gleefully. “Hell has frozen over!” 

“But you go first,” Ben demanded as Caleb turned off the sink and plopped onto the couch beside him. “What’s going on with Mary?” 

“Why would anything be going on with Mary?” Caleb asked innocently, but his hands, above his lap, nervously clenched. 

Ben smirked. “Come on, Caleb. First you go to cook dinner over at her house and Abe skips out on dinner and now she’s sleeping on our couch and you’re cooking for her and Thomas? That’s not just a favor, that’s…”

“That’s what?” Caleb asked. There was something in his voice that made Ben hesitate in pushing him. He didn’t want to upset him, but he also didn’t want Caleb keeping a secret for so long it consumed him just because he was embarrassed. 

“Do you like her?” he asked. 

Caleb stared at him, his eyes flicking between one blue eye and the other, trying to figure out how to respond. 

“Oh my god, you like her!” 

“Ben –”

He was laughing now, his hand over his mouth. “I’m sorry, I swear, I’m not laughing at you, I promise, I just –” he choked over his giggles again, trying to ignore Caleb’s narrow-eyed stare. “I just remember how much you hated Mary when she first started dating Abe. Do you remember?” 

“Benjamin Tallmadge, if you don’t stop laughing right now I’m going to tell everyone that you love George Washington.”

That sobered him up fairly quickly. “That’s not fair,” he protested, but he was still smiling. There was a faint smile on Caleb’s lips too, but he squashed it, trying to look intimidating. 

“I’ll do it,” he warned, “I’ll call Abigail right now and have her patch me through to Big Daddy Washington –”

“How did we start making fun of me?” Ben asked, trying to suppress his laughter as Caleb’s grew. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry, tell me the story.” 

Caleb swallowed his laughter, wiping his eyes with his pinkie finger, and leaned back in the chair. “It’s a long story,” he admitted. 

Ben suppressed the urge to get excited again, and instead, just shrugged. “I have time,” he pointed out. “School doesn’t start for –” he checked his watch, “sixteen hours or so.” 

“Don’t be a smart ass, Tallboy,” Caleb said, grinning. It took him about half an hour to tell Ben the story, the meeting in the grocery store, the ill-fated dinner, Mary’s confession, the man at the bar, bringing her back to the house, the whole story. He listened with rapt attention, watching his best friend’s face light up when he talked about a woman he used to despise. It was a surreal experience, seeing Caleb so attached to someone, anyone, that wasn’t Ben himself. 

“Have you two…?” he asked when the story was finished. 

“No, no, we haven’t,” he hastened to say, wringing his hands together. “I don’t want that to happen.” 

Ben nodded understandingly. “And…” he trailed off, trying to focus on how to ask this particular question. “And what are you going to do about Abe?” 

Caleb bit his lip, dropping his gaze to his still wringing hands. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I don’t know what to do. That’s why I didn’t want to tell you.” 

“Because I would ask you that question?” Ben asked gently. 

“Because I would have to think about answering it,” Caleb shrugged. “I want Mary to be happy. If that means that we’re only friends, then that’s fine. If she decides to stay with Abe forever, I’ll still be here to be her friend.” 

Ben couldn’t keep the weak grimace off his face. “Can you handle that?” he asked. “Always being there for her, but not in the way you want?” 

Caleb raised his shoulders again in a half-hearted shrug. “Her feelings mean more to me than mine,” he said firmly. At Ben’s incredulous expression, he shifted uncomfortably in his seat and changed the subject. “Tell me about Peggy Shippen.” 

***

It was raining again, Edmund noted, slowly turning his cup of coffee in his hand as he watched the rain come down in sheets. He wasn’t sure why he was sitting there, in the same coffee shop that he’d met Anna in. She wasn’t returning his calls anymore; he supposed he had predicted that would happen. But he had also predicted some kind of obvious faux-pas on his part, one that he realized was a death blow the second it happened.

Either it had completely escaped his notice, or something else happened. 

He didn’t know how long he sat there, ruminating over a date he thought had gone well, despite the circumstances, before he looked up and caught sight of Anna, just like the first day he met her, her back determinedly toward him, as if she was hoping she wouldn’t be spotted. 

“Anna?” 

To her credit, she didn’t try to avoid him, but turned around and met his gaze with a weak smile. “Edmund,” she greeted. 

“I – I can go,” he said immediately, reading the discomfort in her face. “I swear, I wasn’t trying to catch you here.” 

“No, no it’s okay, really,” she said, but her face still looked pained. “Let me order my coffee, and we can talk.” 

That didn’t sound promising, Edmund thought. He watched her approach the counter, throwing another reticent look over her shoulder at him. He felt guilty now, causing her undue stress; he could see it in the crease of her brow, in the dulled sparkle of her eyes. 

She was sitting in front of him far too soon, looking far too nervous for his taste. 

“I’m sorry that I haven’t called,” she began, glancing down at her hands. 

“It’s okay,” Edmund said, even though he had just been thinking about how it was definitely not okay. 

“No, it isn’t,” she protested softly. “I just…I didn’t know what to say.” 

Edmund had to force himself not to offer her an easy way out of the conversation. He wanted her to be comfortable, to feel at ease, but the torture of not knowing was more important than his desire to make her happy. He rationalized that he would try to make her happy after her explanation. 

“Selah came home,” she said finally when he didn’t say anything. “He wants to work things out.” 

Edmund wasn’t sure what kind of expression danced over his face, but Anna’s hand closed over his own immediately. “He just started talking about trying to make things work again and I didn’t know what to say, so I kind of just didn’t say anything.” 

He gently pulled his hand out from under hers. “Is this what you want?” he asked. Her eyes met his, a painful torture of looking into the answer he didn’t want before she even said it. 

“I don’t know,” she admitted quietly. 

He wanted to be the man that got up at this moment and walked away to preserve his own feelings. He wanted to be the man that looked completely unbothered by a tidbit of information that made his chest ache. He wanted to do a whole myriad of things, but he did none of them. He sat there and watched Anna struggle with her answer. 

“Well,” he said finally. “I – I confess that I don’t really know what to do now.”

She laughed, actually laughed, but it sounded more like she was on the edge of crying, and it didn’t comfort him at all. “I don’t really know either.” 

“What about Abraham?” Edmund asked, his curiosity forcing the question out of his mouth before he could stop it. He felt his cheeks flush at the invasive question, but Anna didn’t look taken aback. 

“I already told Abraham I didn’t want to be with him,” she said. 

For a moment, he felt a sickening kind of hope. “But you’re not telling me that.” 

She dropped her hand on top of his again. “No. I’m not.” 

***

Peggy felt a pang of unwarranted fear when she saw that her classroom door was open the next morning, its light pouring into the hallway. Her irrational moment of fear must have been borne from that horror movie she’d watched the night before, content to hide her feelings in shrieks of terror that pulled giggles from her cousin, who was watching the movie on the couch beside her, completely unbothered. 

She rationalized that her classroom was probably open because the janitor was cleaning out her trash can or something; perhaps George was finally confiscating her computer with all of its modifications. But what she didn’t expect was Benjamin Tallmadge, sitting at the edge of her desk, a cup of coffee in one hand and a vase of flowers in the other. 

“Benjamin?” she asked, not sure what the question was or how he would answer it. He passed her the coffee wordlessly, stepping out of her way so he wasn’t blocking her desk. She took a sip cautiously. 

“Washington told me how you take it,” Ben explained. “Well, he called Martha and asked.” 

“You asked Washington how I take my coffee?” she asked incredulously. 

“If I had the time to explain my last twenty-four hours, I would,” he promised, stepping close enough to her to push a lock of her blonde hair out of her eyes. “But suffice to say that I’m sorry about the way I acted yesterday. I should have let you explain instead of automatically assuming the worst.” 

She wasn’t sure what to say to that, she was too focused on his hand, come to rest gently on her cheek. 

“My roommate works at Whaler’s Port, over by the bay,” he continued. “Would you allow me to escort you to dinner, Miss Shippen?” 

The bell jarred them both, but his hand stayed on her cheek. She smiled, a soft, unguarded smile that pulled one from Ben’s lips. “You are too good to me, Benjamin Tallmadge,” she said honestly. 

He smiled wider. “Is that a yes?” 

“Pick me up at seven?” she asked. 

Before she could register what he was going, he swooped in and dropped a kiss to her cheek. “It’s a date then,” he whispered, smirking as a shiver ran through her. He stepped cleanly away as the first early student plowed into her classroom, leaving her dazed in front of her desk, a cup of coffee in one hand and a smile on her face. 

***

“I didn’t see you at all yesterday,” Abraham pointed out as he walked by Mary in the kitchen, hauling a basket full of laundry to the bedroom. “Out with your boyfriend?” 

He didn’t even sound remotely upset at the notion, and for some reason, that made a resigned sigh tumble from her mouth. After one incredulous comment, he wasn’t even bothered that she’d had an affair. It was a sad notion, she thought, that they had come to this – pissed off roommates who did chores around each other and vaguely asked personal questions just to make sure the other wasn’t secretly addicted to drugs. 

“I was at Caleb’s,” she said nonchalantly, flipping over the grilled cheese sandwich in the pan. 

A drawer in the bedroom slammed shut, louder than necessary. “You were where?” he asked, and finally, there was an undercurrent of anger. 

“I was at Caleb’s,” she repeated. “I went to the bar and had a few drinks and stayed at Caleb’s.” 

He was back in the kitchen in the blink of an eye. “So you’re sleeping with him too now?” 

“That is not at all what I said,” Mary replied, sliding the sandwich onto a plate and cutting it deftly into four little triangles (no crust) for Thomas. “I said I stayed at Caleb’s. That’s it.” 

He was staring at her going about her business, trying to find a way to navigate an obvious accusation. Thomas, at this point mostly unbothered by his mother and father’s raised voices, munched happily on his sandwich. Mary pushed a bit of his hair out of his face so he wouldn’t get it in his food. 

“Say whatever you’re going to say, Abraham,” she said without looking at him. “Get it over with.” 

“Did you sleep with him?” he spat, still trying to keep his voice at an acceptable volume. Mary stood from her seat next to her son and went back to the stove to make her own grilled cheese, though the confrontation had chased away her appetite. “Mary –”

“No, I didn’t sleep with him,” she hissed, hardly turning her head toward him at all. “He’s my friend.”

“Caleb is my friend,” Abraham replied immediately, petulantly, and even though he hadn’t moved, it was like he was stomping his foot at her; the statement was childish, and before she could stop herself, she laughed. 

“What?” he asked belligerently. “What is so damn funny?” 

“Nothing,” she said, using the spatula to squash her sandwich into the skillet. The resulting sound was cathartic, and she focused on it while Abraham spluttered behind her. 

Instead of a clipped response, or even an under-the-breath insult, she was greeted with the sound of him stomping away from her. She had just started to think that she had gotten off easy when she heard the jingling of the keys. 

“Abraham –” she said loudly, turning away from her food to the empty kitchen, save for her son. “Abraham!” 

He was standing in the entry, slipping his feet into boots. “If you’re not going to tell me,” he said, grabbing his other boot and sliding his foot in, “then I guess I’ll have to find out from Caleb.” 

“What?” she asked, even though she’d heard him perfectly fine. “Abe, don’t –”

“Why?” he snapped. “Scared? Is there something you want to tell me?” 

“I’m not going to admit to an affair that I’m not having!” she shouted finally, forgoing all efforts to keep the argument quiet. Thomas, in the kitchen, whined at her raised voice. She turned back to her son for just a moment, to make sure he was okay, and turned back in time to see Abraham closing the front door, determination on his face. 

The smoke alarm sounded in the wake of his departure, filling the house with a high pitched whine and the smell of burnt bread and cheese. 

***

“You’re sure you don’t mind me staying with you?” Peggy asked, passing an armful of her clothes over to her cousin, perched on the edge of the king sized bed that used to be hers and John’s. “It wouldn’t take me long to find a place. I could stay in a hotel, or –”

“Don’t worry about it,” Sarah waved her off as gracefully as she could with an armful of Peggy’s clothes. “As long as you don’t mind an apartment that permanently smells like art supplies, you’re perfectly welcome.” 

Peggy laughed, a tinkling giggle that Sarah always thought was fake when she was a kid. “It doesn’t smell like art supplies.” 

“Oh, it does,” Sarah shrugged unapologetically. “I’m not saying I’m going to change it for you, I’m just saying…you know, bring your perfume if you don’t like the smell of turpentine.” 

Peggy, with a raised eyebrow, grabbed a little delicate looking bottle off the dresser and slid it into her purse. “All taken care of,” she said with a devilish grin. 

“You sure you don’t want to take anything else?” Sarah asked, casting her eyes around the room. “This doesn’t look like something that belongs to your ex,” she said, indicating the puffy curtains and the decorative throw pillows. 

Peggy stared at the bed for a moment before tearing herself away and sidling into the hallway. “None of this feels like mine anymore,” she said honestly. 

“Okay,” Sarah said, nudging her cousin with her shoulder. “Enough of this moping. You have a date tonight, and since you’re going to be out of the apartment, I’m going to make dinner for my own date.” 

“Really?” Peggy asked. “A new boy in your life?” 

Sarah faltered halfway to the door. “Your mother didn’t tell you?” she asked, feigning nonchalance. Peggy could see the tension in her shoulders; she pulled her keys out of her purse and stepped in front of her to open the front door. 

“Tell me what?” 

“That…that I’m a lesbian?” 

She stepped around Peggy and moved towards the car, leaving her cousin alone on the porch, her keys in her hand. She seemed to naturally expect that Peggy was going to have a negative reaction; Peggy could see it in the set of her jaw, in her downcast gaze. The wind caught her hair and threw the braced reaction into greater relief. If Peggy knew her aunt well (and she did), this must have been a source of great conflict for Sarah. She slammed the front door with more force than she intended, and slid the key into the lock. 

“A new girl in your life then?” she asked, locking the door and turning back to her cousin, who was staring at her in what looked like astonishment. “What’s her name?” 

Sarah grinned widely as she hung up Peggy’s clothes in the back seat of her SUV. “Her name is Philomena, actually,” she said, sliding into the passenger seat, missing how her cousin went still. “Philomena Cheer.”


	11. Kiss with a Fist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edmund has some bad luck, Abraham continues on the road probably-better-not-traveled, Ben and Peggy have their first date, and Caleb gets....a surprise.

Edmund Hewlett loved libraries; the warmth, the smell of old books and dust, the yellowing lights, everything looked aged and decaying, knowledge at the edge of a precipice. He ached to live in a place like that, where every bit of information was eagerly gotten and appreciated. Mostly, he worked in a cold, dark room, alone, and even when he managed to come across something new, no one really cared. 

He had never been in this library before, but the stony, crumbling outside had finally lured him in with the promise of that enclave of knowledge he so desperately craved. He was not disappointed; the maroon carpet, the dark wooden bookshelves, the smell of coffee and books, it all illuminated his most unattainable dreams of a quiet, careful place of serenity. This one was so different than a university library, stale but full of anxiousness and students who didn’t truly appreciate where they were. 

This one was empty, save but for the workers, at least one man at the corner of his eye, shelving books. It made him feel like the conqueror of this quiet, dusty place, and he relished in the feeling of abstract triumph for a few moments before he stepped into the first stack, to his left, the history section. 

He let his fancy carry him for half an hour or so before he settled in the physics section, trying to find a book that he didn’t already own, when a quiet voice wafted toward him. 

“Edmund?” 

For a moment, he was convinced he imagined her voice; there was no possible way he was unlucky enough to run into her twice in one day, but even as he stayed frozen, he heard her soft footsteps coming closer; she was, in fact, real. 

“What are you doing here?” Anna asked, her long hair pulled back into a loose ponytail that left little tendrils of hair trailing down her neck. He took her in like an angel, or an apparition, for a moment before he responded. 

“Well,” he began, his voice rather unwieldy in the quiet, “I love libraries.” 

She stared at him, as if waiting for him to explain further, but he didn’t have anything else to say. So he just shrugged and continued to inch down the stack, his head tilted just slightly to the left to read the titles. She mimicked his pose, looking marginally more adorable than when he did it, and read the titles, her brow furrowed. He wished she’d go away almost as much as he wished she’d stay. 

“Physics?” she asked. 

He shrugged again. “I like physics,” he said simply. 

She laughed, a breathy exhale through her teeth, and straightened up, glancing around her as if she wanted to make sure she wasn’t being watched. 

“Sorry,” she said, when she caught his gaze, “My boss is kind of strict, so…” 

“You work here?” he asked. He should have known, she said she worked at a library, but he never really put the pieces together. She seemed to realize that he didn’t really want to talk to her; she raised one shoulder and turned to walk away. 

Suddenly, Edmund realized that he was losing out on something precious, but what exactly that was he couldn’t be sure. “Wait,” he called out, his voice barely above a whisper, which was still shockingly loud for a library. “Are you busy right now?” 

Immediately, she was smiling, and offered him her hand. He took it and let her lead him through a wandering maze of books. “There’s a section here that mostly gets forgotten, and it’s my favorite spot to hide when everything gets too -” she released his hand to wave her arms around, a sentiment she couldn’t articulate but Edmund instantly understood. 

They walked on in silence, Edmund stumbling along after her, until they came to a clearing in the forest of literature. In a corner, flanked by windows, was a dark blue couch, old and vintage looking, with slouchy cushions. A small table was its companion, low to the ground but still immaculately cleaned of dust. 

“Stay here,” she commanded. “I’ll get us some coffee.” 

She trotted back into the stacks, like a faerie dancing off into the wood, and he was left to inspect her little safe haven. It wasn’t much, but it was certainly cozy, and far enough removed from the rest of the library that he felt completely secluded. 

In the wake of her absence, he allowed himself a moment of self-debate. What the hell was he doing here? It was one thing to be polite to Anna, but the woman was married, and definitely trying to make her marriage work despite her perfectly enjoyable (he insisted) date with him. He should not be pushing his luck, or, more accurately, the limit of his feelings.

But there was nothing wrong with drinking a cup of coffee in a library, was there? Even if the pressure to be quiet pushed them closer together on the small couch, he wasn’t breaking any rules, spoken or otherwise. Besides, she invited him here, right? 

He was rationalizing enough to know that he shouldn’t be here. With an annoyed sigh, he resigned himself to doing the right thing.

He had just decided to get up and leave when she slid back into the little space, holding two cups of coffee. 

“Were you...going somewhere?” she asked tentatively, passing him the cup of coffee. 

He hesitated, unwilling to disappoint her, but pushed forward anyway. “Yeah...yeah, I shouldn’t be here,” he said softly, staring down at the coffee, knowing without tasting it that she made it just the way he liked it. 

She glanced down at the cup of coffee in chagrin. “Yeah,” she replied quietly. “Yeah, you’re probably right.” 

“I’m sorry,” he said without knowing why he was apologizing. Perhaps it felt like her downcast gaze was his fault, despite the fact that it was her decision that pushed them apart. Either way, it felt like it needed to be said. Her gaze flickered up to him for just a moment before she looked away. 

She didn’t say anything, so he decided to go before he made things worse. As he passed her, her hand caught his arm. He stayed still, as if any movement would make her let go. Her hand stayed there, around his forearm, gentle but insistent. 

“We - we can be friends, right?” she asked, so despondently that he would have agreed to anything she asked. “I just - I don’t really have any.” 

“Of course,” he said immediately, if only to alleviate what looked like a deep sadness in her eyes. 

***

Instead of spending the afternoon getting ready for her date, Peggy spent most of her time staring at the door and the mirror intermittently, waiting for Sarah’s girlfriend to come over. The shock of hearing her name lasted a few moments, but Peggy couldn’t bring herself to tell Sarah how she knew Philomena. She couldn’t bring herself to relive the whole drama; the story alone exhausted her. 

Because surely it was the same one; that name wasn’t exactly common. 

But, she sighed as she stuck one more pin in her hair, that wasn’t her concern, and she shouldn’t be dwelling on it. She and John were through, and so were John and Philomena, obviously. After a moment, the smell of paint overtook her and she experimentally sniffed, trying to locate the source of the smell. 

“I told you my apartment smelled like art supplies,” Sarah called as she noticed Peggy’s stiff shoulders. “Just sniff your wrist like a fancy French lady and keep checking your makeup.” 

“I’m not…” she trailed off. She wasn’t checking her makeup, necessarily; she was giving herself a silent pep talk. She didn’t usually feel this nervous before a date, but this time she couldn’t banish the coiled tension in her chest. Perhaps it was because Ben had been angry with her just a day before, or maybe it was a residual reaction to hearing Philomena’s name. Whatever it was, it made it impossible to relax, and even more impossible to touch up her makeup. 

You can do this, she told herself silently. 

“Pegs, I think Ben is here!” Sarah called after a quiet knock. Immediately, Peggy’s hands went to her hair, her face, her lipstick. Did she look okay? Was she dressed appropriately? Were these heels too tall? 

It didn’t matter; Ben was already in the entry when she spotted him, a bouquet of daisies in his hand, and a smile on his face more radiant than any handful of flowers could ever be. 

***

After calling Abraham’s phone upwards of twelve times, Mary had to accept that he wasn’t going to answer. She lingered in the living room, close to the front door and simultaneously close to the kitchen so she could keep an eye on Thomas, still pensively chewing on his sandwich. 

Abraham wouldn’t...actually do something to hurt Caleb, right? She didn’t want to think about it, but she also couldn’t find a satisfactory answer. She knew Abraham; she knew how he reacted to things - quickly, impulsively, and usually violently. For some reason, the idea of his wife having an affair with one of his friends pushed him to a visceral reaction, though the proof that she had an affair with a stranger did not.

She couldn’t begin to understand, and the longer she stood in limbo, the less important it seemed. Whether or not he was going to do something stupid, she should warn Caleb. Quickly, and with shaking hands, she found his number in her contacts and pushed the little phone icon beside it. 

It rang...rang...and rang. 

“You’ve reached Caleb. Leave a message.” 

With a frustrated yell that startled her son, she slammed her finger into the ‘end call’ icon and tossed her phone onto the couch. 

***

“Have I told you that you look beautiful?” Ben asked as the hostess led them to their table. He whispered it, so the hostess wouldn’t hear, like it was a secret. She caught the hostess’s questioning gaze and stifled a smirk. 

“Benjamin,” it was a warning, playful and lilting, and he chuckled, the sound washing over her like a soft blanket. “Behave.” 

“Because you do.” 

“Stop,” she laughed. 

“Yes, Miss Shippen,” he pouted, sticking out his bottom lip as he pulled out her chair for her. 

She let silence fall after that, content to watch him while he perused the menu. She didn’t much care about what she ate or what they drank. She was more interested in him; something had changed in those few days, something she hadn’t been privy to. He knew she was watching him; she could see that he wasn’t reading anymore.

“I have a question,” she said finally. 

“No, I have no idea how to pronounce wine names either,” he said with a smile. 

“Not that,” she replied. “I - I mean. You were angry at me...before.” 

He was saved from responding by the appearance of their waitress, who took their drink orders with a smile in Ben’s direction. She took only a few moments, and Peggy found it wasn’t nearly enough time. Before long, Ben was looking at her again, his gaze unguarded and yet still unreadable. 

“I was,” he admitted. 

“And you’re not now,” Peggy clarified.

“No,” he said. “I – let’s just say that I came to my senses.” 

She furrowed her brows, the resulting image apparently amusing enough that Ben grinned at her over the menu. 

“According to Caleb, the salmon is delicious,” Ben continued, the slight quirk in his eyebrow the only indication of hidden mirth. “I think I’ll get that.” 

“Benjamin –”

“Margaret –” he replied with a laugh. She glared at him, her menu flat on the table. After a few moments of silence, where he tried to suppress laughter, he relented, his face growing serious. “I talked to Washington –”

“I’m hearing that a lot lately –”

“Not like that,” Ben replied. “I kind of…ran into him when I was trying to avoid you, and he took me to his office to talk about whatever was bothering me.” Peggy could see something new in his expression now, that she didn’t recognize. “He told me about Arnold.” 

Her mouth went dry. “He – he had no right –”

“I know,” he insisted, his hand catching hers before she could get up. “Just…before you decide to leave, just give me a second.” He kept his eyes on her long enough to make sure she wasn’t going to leave before he cleared his throat. “I – uh – when I was just eighteen or so, I lost someone I loved. And I thought I was going to be at the bottom of this deep pit for the rest of my life. I couldn’t find a way to climb out, and I was convinced I couldn’t get away from all of those feelings because there just…wasn’t a solution to my problem.” 

His hand slid out of hers and went back to the menu, where he curled the corner over and over again. Peggy let her eyes linger on the nervous tic; it didn’t feel right to look at him right now. 

“I was depressed,” he continued. “Most of the time, I couldn’t even bring myself to get out of bed, and when I did, even doing something like taking a shower felt like a monumental task. My parents thought I was being lazy, that I was just being dramatic. But it felt like everything, even the air, was too heavy.” 

He paused, for a long moment, and Peggy had to glance back up at him to make sure he was okay. She caught his hand in an upward movement that looked like he had been wiping away a tear. She didn’t want to dwell on it. 

“I moved in with Caleb about a year after that, and pretty much used him as a therapist. It wasn’t the perfect solution, but he listened to me, and he helped me slowly get back to doing my usual day-to-day activities. And don’t get me wrong, those feelings aren’t gone, and they never will be, but I needed someone. Caleb happened to be that someone.” 

“Ben…” 

“I’m not saying that Arnold, or John, was your someone,” Ben interjected hurriedly. “I’m not even saying that what you went through after Arnold is the same thing that I did. What I’m trying to say,” he laughed, a self-deprecating laugh that Peggy decided she didn’t like the sound of; it sounded too melancholic. “What I’m trying to say is that I understand why you would go back to John. And I understand why you just up and left.” 

“I – I’m sorry,” she said softly, reaching for his hand again. “I’m sorry that you had to go through that.” 

But his eyes were focused on something behind her, and his hand tightened on hers before it released. “I’m sorry, can you give me just a moment?” 

He stood and called to a man that Peggy didn’t recognize. “Abe? Long time! Where’s Mary?” 

A scrawny man with a beanie barely attached to his head barely acknowledged Ben. “Tallmadge.” His eyes were staring past him, toward the kitchen. “Where’s Caleb?” 

Ben blanched, and glanced down at Peggy. She could see alarm in his eyes. “I – I don’t know, why?” 

“He’s working today, isn’t he?” he asked brusquely, finally focusing on his friend’s face. “Come on, don’t give me that face, you know why I’m here.” 

Ben shrugged. “I was assuming for the food?” 

“Did you know that Caleb was sleeping with Mary?” Abe’s voice was suddenly too loud, and Peggy heard the ripple of whispers in his wake. “I mean, you two live together, you must know.” 

Ben’s face tightened. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

“Of course you don’t,” Abe hissed, pushing past him toward the kitchen. “I suppose I’ll have to get the truth from Caleb.” 

“Abe!” Ben called. He turned back to Peggy, who gave him a nod. He charged after his friend, Peggy on his heels, her hand on his arm to keep from stumbling in her heels. 

***

“Brewster, your friend is here,” Rogers, from his perch at the window, called over his shoulder. Caleb didn’t bother to answer; they never really finished their conversations. They were always focused on the task at hand, at the dish in front of them. It wouldn’t do to make a disastrous mistake for the sake of a word. 

Ben must have finally shown up with Peggy. Caleb smirked as he plated the next dish, carefully avoiding the hot grill with his dangling sleeve. He would have to find a moment to sneak out so he could finally see the elusive Peggy Shippen. 

“Brewster!” Rogers crowed again, louder, and Caleb was forced to tear his eyes away from his dish. 

“What do you want, you annoying bastard?” he asked good-naturedly. With a tilt of his head, Rogers indicated the door, where Abraham was standing, his hands clenched into fists. 

“Abe…” Caleb said slowly. “What...is something wrong?” 

It didn’t even look like Abraham heard him; at the sound of Caleb’s voice, he lunged, his fist landing squarely on Caleb’s cheekbone. He heard rather than felt himself stagger back into the counter, knocking something breakable awry. 

He knew, even now, that this had to do with Mary. The details weren’t important. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, as Abe reared back to hit him again. “I’m sorry.” 

But the fist never connected. Abe was staring at him, his hand still raised. 

“So it’s true, then,” Abe breathed. “You son of a bitch -”

Behind him, Caleb could see Ben’s stricken face, held at the door by Rogers, who was calling for security, a pretty blonde girl standing next to him. 

“Caleb, hit him back, you dumbass,” Ben shouted in exasperation. If the situation wasn’t so serious, Caleb could have laughed; this would be the only time that Ben condoned violence, and it was the one time that he swore to himself that he wouldn’t engage. 

He deserved this, he thought. 

“How many times?” Abe asked, grabbing Caleb by the front of his shirt and yanking him upright. “How many times did you fuck my wife?” 

“Wait, what?” Caleb could feel the heat of the grill lingering behind his back. “Abe, I never -” 

“You just admitted it!” he shouted, shoving him backward. It was all he could do to avoid the searing heat of the grill with his back. “Don’t take it back now, Brewster, be a man.” 

As the shock wore off and the pain in his cheek set in, Caleb winced. “Fuck you,” he spat. He could hear security coming; Rogers’s annoyed bark was growing louder. Just so he could reclaim his dignity, he swung, just once, the sudden movement catching Abe so completely off-guard that he stumbled into the island, full of prepped vegetables and fish. 

“Come on, Woody,” he snapped as the first bit of blood swelled from his friend’s lip. “Get up. Be a man.” 

***

“If I’m honest, this is not what I had planned for a first date,” Ben said as the sea wind blew through them, a cool gust that pushed Peggy’s hair out of her face. “I figured dinner would be enough.” 

“Are you kidding?” she said incredulously. “It wasn’t that long ago that you got punched in the face yourself. This is pretty much exactly what I expected.” 

He let another gust of wind carry his laughter away to the sea and tightened his hold on her hand. “I thought we were never going to speak of that again.” 

“You said,” she admonished. “I made no such promise.” 

“I suppose that’s fair,” he chuckled. “But I think I’ve earned some kind of recompense for bringing up my most embarrassing moment.” 

“Do you?” Peggy asked. “You think you’re in a position to make demands? I’ve seen you get punched by a high school kid.”

He gaped at her, his hand over his chest in mock-offense. “Miss Shippen, you wound me.” 

She reached for the hand over his chest and took his other hand in hers. “What if I told you that I had just the recompense in mind?” She was standing in front of him now, their difference in height more pronounced now that her strappy heels were hanging from the handle of her purse. 

“I’d say I trust your judgement,” he replied. 

He was so tall she had to go onto her tiptoes to kiss him on the mouth without missing, and she could tell he noticed because he laughed into her mouth, breathy and soft. Without breaking the kiss, she yanked one of her hands free to smack him gently in the chest. 

The wind blew their laughter into the darkness. 

***

Caleb pressed the bottle of cold beer to his cheekbone, hissing at the sting. He had intended to drink it, but he couldn’t really argue with the relief of the cold against his skin. He would just have to forgo his after-work beer today. He leaned farther into the cushions of his couch, the smell of Mary’s shampoo washing over him. 

He wanted to call her, to ask her where Abe got the idea that they had slept together, but he couldn’t bring himself to offer himself up so readily for an adverse reaction that would feel like a rejection. 

Instead he suffered in the dark silence of his apartment.

He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, turning the cold bottle against the bruise on his face intermittently, trying not to think about his entire evening, before a loud banging on his door jolted him out of his reverie. 

“Abraham, I swear to God, if someone already paid your bail -”

“Try again,” her voice was softer than he ever remembered hearing it, and even though he hadn’t bothered turning on the light outside his apartment, he knew exactly who it was. 

“Mary,” he breathed, lowering the bottle from his face. “Come in.” It was unnecessary, she was already stepping past him the second he opened the door, going for the light. He flinched against the harsh light, feeling the skin of his bruise pull. 

“Did Abraham do that to you?” she asked, but it was hardly a question. They both knew the answer. 

“He seemed to think he was protecting his wife’s honor,” he replied wryly. Mary scoffed and moved into the living room, landing on his couch like she belonged there. 

“Please. You and I both know it has nothing to do with me,” she patted the couch beside her, offering the space to him. He knew sitting next to her in the almost dark living room was a bad, tempting idea, but he didn’t even bother trying to stop himself. 

“I -” he hesitated. “I really don’t want to have to ask this -” 

“I didn’t tell him I was sleeping with you for some petty revenge,” she interrupted. “I wouldn’t do that to you.” 

“Then why -”

“Because he found out that I spent the night here, and of course, Abraham’s imagination -” 

“He doesn’t trust me,” Caleb replied, putting the bottle back on his cheek. Mary, with a disgruntled sound, pulled the bottle from his skin. 

“Just drink the beer,” she commanded. “I’ll make you an ice pack.” 

“You don’t have to.” 

“Yes, I do,” she replied sharply. He wasn’t sure what to say to that, so he let her rummage through his kitchen, freeing ice cubes from the trays and dropping them into a towel. “This is my fault. If I had just….If I had just left when I found out about Anna, we wouldn’t be in this cold war. Both of us could have been happy, but I...couldn’t let go.” 

“Do you think you’d be happier, if you...you know,” Caleb said softly. 

“At least I would have had the chance to be with someone that actually wanted me,” she shrugged. 

“Yeah, there was John,” Caleb pointed out. Mary, still in the kitchen, went still. “Right?” 

“That’s….that’s not who I was talking about,” Mary stammered. “John Simcoe is...something else.” 

“I don’t know what that means,” Caleb said as she moved back into the living room, bypassing his hand to press the ice to his face herself. 

“Me neither,” she admitted. Her other hand settled on his unharmed cheek, under the guise of steadying the ice pack. “But I just…”

He covered her hand with his own as she trailed off. “Mary,” he coaxed. “You just what?” 

“I’m not paying Abe’s bail,” she said in a rush. “And I packed my stuff. It’s all at Samuel’s.” 

He felt like the air had been sucked out of the room. “Why are you telling me this?” 

She laughed, her breath ghosting over his face. “I think you know why.” 

Later, when he told the story to Ben, he would insist that he kissed her first, that he had finally had been unable to stop himself. But that would be a lie. She pulled him to her, tugging gently on his hair; he would never be able to tell anyone when her hand on his face had gone to the back of his neck. He didn’t really mind telling everyone else a false story. 

The truth was his.


	12. Unexpected

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peggy and Philomena move past their differences, Ben is adorable, Anna and Edmund attempt to be friends, and Andre takes Robert on a nice date.

It was almost midnight when Ben finally managed to get Peggy back to her cousin’s apartment, both of them half-drunk on their third glasses of wine from the bar down the street, giddy on breathless kisses and the cool night air. He pressed her gently against the door, giving her what was probably their tenth good night kiss. With a very soft protestation, she pulled away, resting her head on the door. 

“We’ve been out here for five minutes already,” she whispered conspiratorially. Ben nudged her head to the side so he could press a kiss to her jaw. “Sarah is going to get suspicious.” 

His laugh was so quiet it just sounded like an exhale, shuddering over the soft skin of her neck. She squirmed away from him, her quiet laughter building into ticklish giggles. “Let her get suspicious,” he said. 

“Benjamin Tallmadge,” she scolded with a laugh. “I have to go -” 

“Excuses, excuses,” he said even as he pulled away from her, passing her purse back into her hands. “I had no idea Peggy Shippen was so full of excuses.” 

“I had no idea Benjamin Tallmadge was so insufferable,” she retorted with a laugh, turning her back to him so she could unlock the door. He took that opportunity to press more kisses to the nape of her neck, his hand gently pushing her long curly hair out of the way. She felt her hand go slack around the key, and used her other hand to support herself against his ministrations. “You are incorrigible.” 

“I know,” he said against her skin, laughing when goosebumps erupted on her neck. “I thought you were leaving.” 

“I’m trying,” she protested weakly. 

“Here,” his hand reached around her waist and pulled her flush against him while his other hand gently unlocked the door. “Never say I wasn’t a gentleman.” 

She stepped into the entry, on one side of the doorway, while he stayed obediently on his other side. “Lunch, tomorrow?” she asked. 

“In your office,” he amended. “Just in case.” 

She didn’t want to know what his just in case meant, but she nodded anyway. “I had fun,” she said softly. He leaned against the doorframe, as if he couldn’t wait for her to continue. “Despite the...physical violence.” 

“I thought that was just an extra bit of entertainment,” Ben joked. “I should go check on Caleb.” 

“Go,” she urged him. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

She waited until he was completely gone from her sight before she closed the door, realizing for the first time since the door opened that she could hear voices. With a perfunctory glance around her, Peggy deduced that the voices were coming from Sarah’s room; and the other voice, she knew, was Philomena’s. 

She had hoped they could avoid each other longer than this; she didn’t want Sarah to think that she disapproved of her sexuality just because she wasn’t terribly fond of the girlfriend in question. But, then again, Peggy thought as she dropped her purse onto the couch and followed soon after, what point of contention did they have anymore anyway? Neither of them were with John, and they probably wouldn’t ever have that fight again. 

As the door to Sarah’s room opened quietly, Peggy silently promised herself that she would be charming, unaffected, her usual self. She would not ruin this for her cousin. 

Philomena’s hair was lighter than Peggy remembered, long and wavy, not unlike Peggy’s own. She spotted her on the couch and actually took a step back, as if she feared some sort of physical confrontation. Peggy suppressed an amused smile. 

“You’re -” Philomena couldn’t seem to find the words.

“Sarah’s cousin,” Peggy finished for her. 

“I - I didn’t know -”

“It’s not a subject that comes up much,” Peggy said easily. “Don’t worry,” she said to the other woman’s pale face. “I’m not here to ruin your shot at happiness, if that is what this is. I’m certainly not here to make your life difficult. I’m just here to crash on my cousin’s couch until I find an apartment.” 

To her credit, the girl looked supremely apologetic, though what she thought she needed to apologize for, Peggy could not understand. “Can I just say -” 

“No need,” Peggy cut her off. “Please, let’s just forget everything.” 

“Okay,” the Philomena replied uncertainly. “I suppose I can do that.” She padded quietly into the kitchen and filled a cup with water. “I’m just watching Sarah paint, if you want to join us.” 

“I don’t want to ruin your date,” Peggy said, smiling. “Have fun.” 

Philomena considered her face for a moment, as if she thought she could detect some sort of deception in Peggy’s face. When she could find none, she stepped closer to her on the couch. “I really do like her,” she confided. “I mean - if that matters to you -” 

“My cousin’s happiness is important to me,” Peggy clarified. “John and I are not together anymore.” 

Philomena nodded. “I am sorry for the part I might have played in that.” 

“How many times do I have to tell you that you don’t have to apologize?” Peggy said easily. “It looks like we’ve both moved on. I can’t promise that we’ll be the best of friends, but this is a nice start, isn’t it?” 

“Yeah,” Philomena turned the cup in her hands awkwardly. “Yeah, it is.” 

***

There were no lights on in her house when Anna pushed the front door open; that was exactly what she wanted. She had spent the evening sitting at a bar, nursing the same beer, avoiding going home and facing Selah. She thought she had been prepared to rekindle their marriage, away from Abraham, away from that temptation. 

She hadn’t expected Edmund. 

She thought perhaps she would never see him again, except out of the corner of her eye when she saw another man with the same hair, with the same kind eyes. But see him in person? It would never happen. They didn’t just cross paths, except for that one moment in the coffeeshop, when they first met. 

And yet, she had seen him twice today; it was as if the universe was purposely putting him in her way, so often that she could practically trip over him in her mind and in real life. She had almost turned her back on him twice, and both times she found herself almost powerless to resist turning back around to talk to him. His voice soothed her, much as she was loath to admit it. 

And he had accepted her friendship, despite the fact that she knew (and he probably did too) that they were playing with a lit match; one wrong move and they would be spiraling out of control. 

“It’s about time you came home,” Selah’s voice wafted toward her from their bedroom, where she could just barely see the light of the lamp. “Abraham need you?” 

“I’m not speaking to Abraham right now,” Anna said, but she said it with hardly any feeling. If he didn’t believe her, that wasn’t her concern. She dropped her purse on the table and leaned against the door of the bedroom. 

“So where were you?” he asked, pulling his glasses off the edge of his nose. 

“A bar,” she shrugged. “Just thinking.” 

He pulled the covers back on the bed, as if to invite her in, but still, she did not move. “About us?” 

“It is a lot to think about,” she pointed out, finally stepping more clearly into the bedroom. 

“Trying to make your marriage work is a lot to think about?” Selah asked. “That’s not a good sign.” 

“You know what I mean,” she sighed. 

“I don’t, actually,” he replied. “Because this shouldn’t be something that you have to spend all night in a bar thinking about. You should be able to come home to your husband without feeling like you have to avoid him.” 

“I wasn’t -”

“You were, and you have been, since I moved back in,” he interrupted. “Tell me the truth, Anna, do you want this marriage to work or not?” 

***

Anna returned to work the next morning with a pounding headache, a symptom of very little sleep. She and Selah had stayed up late, yelling at each other until she finally succumbed to whatever his point was (she couldn’t really remember now), if only so she could manage an hour or two of sleep before she had to get up for work. She had slept in her bed alone, Selah on the couch. Somehow, that had felt even more lonely, knowing that there was someone else in the house that she could and should feel at home with. 

But she didn’t. 

She poured herself a cup of coffee at the counter of the little cafe, knowing that DeYoung wouldn’t be in early enough to reprimand her for it. 

Even as she thought it, she heard the creak of the heavy door open, and immediately put her coffee on the little shelf underneath the cash register, just in case. 

As if she’d summoned him, Edmund was there again, the back of his head immediately recognizable to Anna as he moved toward the physics section again. She laughed a little under her breath; what terrible and wonderful luck. She watched him browse from her spot, unwilling to interrupt him again; he had seemed so torn up by her presence last time. Instead she sipped her coffee pensively. 

Luck was not on his side, it seemed, because she was the only one that could check out the book he needed, a huge astrophysics book whose title she couldn’t even begin to understand. She tried to pretend that she hadn’t seen him yet when he got to her counter, but she was so tired that her surprise probably came across as fake. 

“You look -” he trailed off, and she had to stifle a smile as she opened the back cover of his book and slid the card out, just to double check the number. 

“Awful?” she supplied helpfully. “I know.” 

“You never look awful,” he gently scolded her. “You just seem tired.” 

“Staying up to fight all night with your husband will do that to you,” she muttered as she scanned the book. “Bring it back in two weeks to check it out again if you need to.” She passed the book back, sliding it over the table to him, but he didn’t take it. 

He was just staring at her, as if waiting for her to continue. 

“What?” she asked with a laugh. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked, looking concerned. “About Selah, that is.” 

“Oh,” she stammered. “Oh, uh, that’s not what I was trying to -”

“I just - I thought I’d ask because I said we were friends,” Edmund pointed out. “I mean - if you need a friend…” 

She did, and she knew he could see it on her face, the aching pain she couldn’t tell to anyone else, but she would be damned if she told the man she had a crush on about her woes with her husband. Instead, she sighed heavily. “Why don’t you just talk to me for a little bit about something else?” she asked. 

“If that will help -”

“It will,” she insisted, stepping out from behind the counter. “Please.” 

He didn’t let her lead him to her little secret spot in library; instead, he took her to the cafe, to a table in the corner. She sat beside him instead of in front of him, lest that feel like a date. He looked momentarily disconcerted by her proximity, but did not comment on it. Instead, he placed the astrophysics book on the table and fixed his eyes on it instead of her. 

They sat in silence for a long time, Anna sipping her coffee, Edmund opening and closing the cover of his book listlessly. She could feel the anxiety pouring off of him in waves, from the way he watched her hands carefully every time they moved to the nervous fidgeting of his hands. 

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I shouldn’t have suggested this.” 

“No, it’s not you,” Edmund insisted. “I promise. It’s me. I don’t - I don’t know how to be your friend without -” 

“I know,” she said. “Trust me -” 

“I want to be your friend,” he said, so desperately that she looked up at him in alarm. “I want to be here, in your life.” 

“But you can’t,” she finished for him. 

“Anna, what if I - what if I do something -” 

Please do something, she wanted to say it, the words were at the tip of her tongue, but she bit them back. She couldn’t - she couldn’t do that to him. Instead, she leaned over and rested her head on his shoulder, much like she did at the end of their first date, while they were watching television in the dark. 

She felt the almost phantom pressure of his lips on the top of her head, and the comfort that washed over her took her by surprise; she had to push back the tears that rose to her eyes. How long had it been since someone did something as simple as that? How starved was she for simple affection? 

She released her coffee cup and clutched onto Edmund’s hand tightly, finally ceasing the steady thump of his book opening and closing. She saw rather than felt Edmund’s other hand come to rest, feather-light, on her cheek, tilting her head up. 

“I know you feel like you aren’t worth much right now, because of Selah, and I know you feel guilty, and it hurts; it’s a rotten feeling, I know. But you are priceless,” he was speaking so softly she had to keep her eyes on his mouth to understand the words as they fell from his lips. “And anyone who doesn’t recognize that doesn’t deserve you; but that doesn’t mean that you shouldn’t accept it.” 

A tear spilled over onto her cheek, and she wiped it away before he could. 

“This is what I was afraid of,” he said, still quietly. She didn’t say anything; she didn’t know what to say. Instead, she pressed a tentative, soft kiss to his cheek, lingering there long enough to close her eyes tightly, to relish it. 

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me,” he said, clearing his throat. “I didn’t - I didn’t do anything.” 

He was about to get up, she could see it, but for some reason, she couldn’t let it happen. She still had hold of one hand, but she saw, almost as if she hadn’t allowed it to happen, her other hand reaching for his neck. 

She pulled him back down to her, her lips landing not on his cheek, but right on his. Despite yanking him downward, it was a soft kiss, just as soft as their voices, as soft as his eyelashes on her skin. He didn’t pull away from her, but pulled her even closer, as if she had broken some sort of dam in him, like he had been waiting for her to give him permission to lose control. 

The thought made her smile. 

***

“I still can’t believe that you keep taking me to these places,” Robert said, taking a sip of his obscenely expensive wine. “I’ve told you before -” 

“That I don’t have to, yes, but I like to,” Andre shrugged just one shoulder, very blase. Robert smirked at the movement, a response he was becoming rapidly used to. “I like spending time with you, is that so difficult to believe?” 

Yes, he thought. Yes, it is, especially in public. But he said nothing, instead, he took another sip of his wine and watched Andre peruse the menu. 

“Robert?” the voice was as unwelcome as it was absolutely welcome. 

“Abraham,” he said stiffly, his eyes meeting Andre’s for just a moment before rising to meet Abe’s. “What - what are you doing here?” 

“I’m looking for my friend,” Abraham looked just as uncomfortable as Robert felt. “Hi, Abraham Woodhull,” he offered his hand to Andre, who took it and shook with a gracious smile.

“John Andre,” he answered. 

“Nice to meet you,” Abe said, glancing over at Robert for just a second before turning back to Andre. 

“Likewise,” Andre replied, smiling over at Robert. “How do you know Robert?” 

“I’m -” Abe blanched for a moment before recovering. “We’re friends.” 

“It’s always nice to meet someone in Robert’s life,” Andre said fondly, “He keeps so much of his life secret.” 

“Does he now?” Abe said, turning to Robert. “I had no idea.” 

Robert cleared his throat. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?” he asked Abe pointedly. 

Abe blinked, surprised somehow by Robert’s response. “Uh, yes, I suppose I do.” 

Robert watched him go, feeling a familiar tightness in his throat. He pulled his collar away from his throat; he had almost forgotten how to breathe past it. But he would remember, in time.


End file.
